


Don't Take Me For Granite

by TruebornAlpha



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ancient Greece, Ancient Rome, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prince Keith (Voltron), Pygmalion, Reincarnation, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-04-23 14:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14334417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: Keith is a sculptor who falls hopelessly in love with his statue until a meddling love god decides to help things along.





	1. Don't Take Me for Granite

Being born was painful. He remembered the sharp edge of the blade cutting him free as he first took shape, the too-bright light as he was pulled from the safety of darkness. He remembered sounds that were so loud that they pounded through his core. But the  _first_  thing Shiro remembered was the hands.

They were calloused and confident as they sculpted him from marble. He’d never felt warmth before, and he could feel it sinking into the cold stone as he tried to hold on to it. They smoothed away the rough edges, chiseling out every careful detail, every strand of hair, and the faint trace of veins beneath alabaster skin. They formed him into something new.

Keith gave him ears, so Shiro could hear the way he talked to himself as he worked. Quiet grumbles and muttered curses, deep breaths of victory after a long day. He talked to the stone as he coaxed it free, focused and single-minded in his efforts. He gave Shiro eyes, opened wide to see the world. So, Shiro watched his creator, a young man with dark hair damp with sweat and a serious face who worked until exhaustion and fell asleep in his workshop, too tired to leave.

The pain meant nothing when Keith leaned back on his heels at the end of the day, covered in fine white dust, and smiled at the progress he’d made. It was a nice smile.

Piece by piece he came together. Keith spent days on his jaw and neck, shaping the long column that gave way to his shoulders, then longer still shaping the lines of his fingers, down to each precisely designed nail.

Keith had other projects in his little workshop. They never stayed as long. He sculpted brave heroes with armor so detailed Shiro was sure their swords could come to life, or sublime goddesses with long flowing hair and eternity in their stone eyes. Keith was talented and dedicated, and Shiro was happy to watch him work. Keith was never as focused or as driven with his other works.

His only visitor was a tweedy looking man who came in to take the statues away, or delivered new pieces for Keith to work on. They argued almost as much as they didn’t, and Keith didn’t talk to him like he talked to Shiro.

Some days it was frustrating, like the days Keith fell asleep, shivering in the corner of the room and still covered in dust, or the days Keith didn’t say anything at all, staring out the window with a pensive expression, as if he himself was made of stone. The thickness in his throat and stillness of his limbs left him cold and aching. The need to talk to him was overwhelming, but the need to comfort was even worse. On those days, Shiro hoped and prayed with all that he had and all that he could be, for an ending he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

For a long time, it was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

He’d stood tall in Keith’s workshop for so long, even after he’d been finished. Keith kept talking to him as he began new pieces, carrying on a one-sided conversation Shiro couldn’t answer, but it didn’t matter much. He liked the sound of Keith’s voice as he worked, chipping away at blocks of marble to reveal the creatures hidden inside. It had never occurred to Shiro that being finished meant the tweedy looking man would eventually come for him too.

“You can’t keep it here forever.” The man said as Keith scowled darkly.

“Not everything I make is for sale. I make plenty of statues for you, you don’t get to have everything.”

“Of course I do.” The man tutted, giving Shiro an appraising look. “You’re still apprenticed to  _my_  workshop. You’re using  _my_  tools, and  _my_  space. Everything you make is mine to sell and it’ll fetch quite the profit. Now stop complaining and get back to work.”

Keith waited until the door had closed to snarl, throwing his chisel across the room. “Stupid, arrogant, ugh! I should just leave, I should just take everything and start my own workshop. I’m the best artist here. I work harder than anyone else he’s got, it would all fall apart without me.” He stalked across the floor towards Shiro and put a hand on his statue’s cool marble chest, frustrated tears streaking down the dust of his face. “I’m not going to let them take you, okay?”

_Take me?_

Who would look over Keith without him? Who would keep watch while he slept or listen to him talk while he work? He tried to say something, any kind of reassurance to wipe away the tears from Keith’s face and promise that he’d stay always. Shiro was only stone. He didn’t have words for emotions or a beating heart that could feel, but it was still like something had cracked inside of him. There had to be a way to keep Keith.

Keith left late that night, his head hung low, the broad line of his shoulders slumped and unhappy. There was nothing Shiro could do. He’d never felt more like a prisoner than he had in that moment. He was running out of time. He could have wept for the cruelty of it all, screaming through a throat that never moved, and pleading to any of the endless gods that might care to listen to let him keep his Keith.

That night, one of them listened.

A beam of light like molten starlight poured through the windows of Keith’s workshop. It was a flurry of glittering silver and impossible steel, beautiful enough to blind, but Shiro didn’t truly have eyes. Out of the light stepped a tall, dignified figure draped in cloth of the softest wool. He looked almost familiar, though Shiro wasn’t sure why. He had the most magnificent mustache Shiro had ever seen.

“Well now, what have we here?” The man said with a wide grin as he circled around Shiro, tugging thoughtfully at his mustache. “Interesting, I don’t usually get a call like this. Young lovers, sure. Star-crossed destinies, you’ve got it. Even a bunch of middle-aged couples looking to spice things up, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows and seemed disappointed when the statue remained, well, statuesque. 

If Shiro could have rolled his eyes, he would have.  _What are you?_

 _“_ I think the question is  _who_ , although I guess what isn’t too far off.” The man said to the statue and offered a little bow. “Coran, God of Love, Beauty, and that feeling you get when you see something so cute you want to just smush it with your hands like an adorable squishy dog face and-” He stopped and coughed, straightening himself out as a pair of overly small feathered wings fluttered at his back. “I multi-task. I can also hear you, quite loudly in fact. Drowned out all the other prayers in the whole area, that’s a lot of pining you’ve got in that stone heart of yours.” He rapped on Shiro’s chest.

 _I’m… sorry?_ Shiro wasn’t sure he was. He hadn’t meant to interrupt the stranger’s day, but if there was even a fraction of truth in his tale, then maybe he could help?

“You’re darn tootin’ I can help. That’s a 20th century colloquialism. You’re not there yet.” Coran said with his most winsome smile, tapping Shiro on his chest. Again. Shiro was too excited to turn him down.

 _I just want a chance to talk to him. I want to tell him how much he means to me._ Shiro insisted.  _I want to sit with him when he’s not happy. I think- I think he’s lonely. I think he could use a friend._

Coran sniffed, his eyes glassy with emotion, and he dabbed at them with a corner of his sleeve. “I’m okay,” he said in a voice that was clearly not. “I just get so emotional over these things.” Then he snapped his fingers, posture straightening, a determined glint in his eyes.

“I can finish his work. Yes, yes that’s what I’ll do. I can breathe life into stone.” Coran nodded. His expression softened. “He’s already started.”

Stone softened and warmed, white marble flushing with color as blood rushed beneath the skin. The world swam into crystallized clarity in so many colors Shiro couldn’t name. He gasped as his lungs formed and air rushed inside of them, head dizzy at the sudden burst of oxygen. He took one step with new muscles and stumbled from his pedestal into Coran’s arms. His body felt lighter, and a pulse beat against his ribs, a new astounding rhythm .

“How?” Shiro felt the word in his mouth, startled by the deep sound of his mouth.

“A blessing! Par for the course in my line of work.” Coran said brightly. “Not much use being the God of Love without helping people actually get it. Though magic always comes with a cost, probably should have told you that ahead of time. Hm.”

“A-a cost? I…I’m alive. I’m like Keith?”

“More than you think.” Coran poked Shiro in the ribs. “I exchanged your heart for a human one, the best kind for loving. Love is at its best as an exchange of hearts? Now you have a chance to figure out how to love and to get Keith to love you, too.“

Shiro took a shaky break, looking at his hands as he flexed his fingers. “I don’t know that, how do I do it?”

“Romance, my dear! Sweep him off his feet. Shower him with affection. Tell jokes. Everyone likes something different, you just have to find what works. That’s the challenge, having a heart isn’t enough if you don’t know how to live with it. If you succeed, then you get to keep a human heart. If not, well.” He gave Shiro a consolation pat on the shoulder. “Then it’s back to being a statue for you.” 

“I’ll do it,” Shiro insisted. He couldn’t fail. A chance to be with Keith, if not just for now then forever!

Coran drew him into a tight embrace. This close, Shiro could see the abyss behind his eyes, the weight of eternity and overwhelming knowledge. Coran was still smiling, and Shiro didn’t know to be afraid. “I hope you do. Good luck, Shiro.”

Then he was gone, with no sign he’d ever been there. Not even the dust on the floor had been disturbed. Nothing moved, except Shiro. His new heart beat frantically, and Shiro brought a hand up to calm it. He was going to meet Keith! He just had to find him first.

He took his first unsteady step forward and toppled to the ground in an ungainly heap. The next step didn’t go much better, but soon, Shiro was walking, in long confident strides from corner to corner, following the puddles of moonlight from the workshop’s windows. Slowly, he built up his courage to try the workshop’s lone door. Then he would find Keith, and they would fall in love.

Outside, there was a loud crack. Shiro froze.

Frantically, he scrambled behind a half-finished carving of a huntress with an intricate bow. Keith had said he’d liked her progress just this morning. His heart was frantic again, pounding like it could break through his chest. Then the door pushed open slowly. A hooded figure, its face obscured, tiptoed through the workshop and headed straight for Shiro’s old home.

When he found it was empty, he gasped.

“No!” Keith rushed to the empty pedestal, hands curled around its base. “Son of a bitch! You son of a bitch, this is too far. You can’t just take him!” He snarled through his teeth, turning back towards the door of his workshop. His breath caught in his throat at the loss, helpless in his rage to bring back his creation. 

Shiro couldn’t stand it anymore. He pushed past the half-finished huntress with a murmured apology and stumbled out into the workshop.

“Keith!”

Keith screamed at seeing the large naked man looming over him.

Shiro screamed mainly because Keith was screaming.

“Who are you?!” Keith yelled, grabbing a chisel from a nearby workbench and brandishing it like a weapon. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for you.” Shiro took a wobbly step forward and was met with the pointy end of the chisel.

“You  _what_?! I don’t need some naked Dionysus-touched madman breaking into my workshop, I’m going to call the guards.”

“No wait, Keith! I’m here for  _you_ , don’t you recognize me?” Shiro held out his hands entreatingly as Keith narrowed his eyes. A heartbeat passed, then another. The chisel dropped from nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor as Keith stumbled back in shock.

“Oh gods, I’m the one going mad. This isn’t possible, am I cursed?” He fisted his hands into his hair, suddenly paler than the moonlight that shone through his window.

He was a picture of regret, and Shiro’s knew heart did a somersault behind his ribs. He couldn’t stop himself from reach out, carefully resting his hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith tensed and looked up slowly.

“I don’t think so?” Shiro said, eyes wide with concern. “No one mentioned a curse.”

A strange silence stretched between them, and Keith looked up from Shiro’s crown, to his chest. His eyes darted lower, only to immediately back to his face, cheeks darkening. “Are you cold?”

Shiro considered it, his mouth pinched in consideration, and with a hesitant sort of honesty, he said, “I don’t know.”

With a world-wary sigh that Shiro didn’t think was entirely warranted, Keith draped his cloak over Shiro’s broad shoulders. He looked down at the sack in his hand, and his face scrunched up in the most peculiar way. Keith hastily kicked the sack into an empty spot under his work bench. “Let’s… yeah.” He exhaled deeply. “Let’s figure this out.”

Shiro liked the way Keith’s hands felt against his skin. The warmth was somehow better than before when Keith’s fingers had traced along the stone. He caught Keith’s hands in his own and pressed them against his chest to share the fluttered beating of his heart.

“You feel real.” Curiosity overcame caution as Keith slowly explored Shiro, marveling at how each line he’d carved had come to life. Hard muscles moved beneath velvet skin, the veins spidered blue through his arms. Every detail was exactly as he’d imagined it and chiseled it from the stone. Dark eyes flickered downward for just a moment before he caught himself.  _Every_ detail.

“You made me real, I’m not going to leave you.” Shiro promised. “I think it might be hard to sell me now.”

“Somehow, I think that’s not quite right.” Keith said dryly, shaken out of his distraction as he pulled Shiro forward. “We need to get you out of here before anyone sees. There’s no way I can explain my statue coming to life. I’ll-, I’ll have to make up something. Bandits, maybe. Or gods, people love a good god story.”

“It was a god actually.” Shiro said as Keith herded him out of the workshop and outside. He stopped shock and stared upwards, drowning in a clear spring sky lit with infinite stars. A breeze rustled through the cloak and catching the end as he shivered. When he breathed, the world felt alive. With a soft, unintelligible word of wonder, he reached upwards to try and grasp the moon from the sky.

Keith reached out, gently catching Shiro by the wrist. Shiro didn’t turn away. His voice had softened in its own accord, left hushed in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s too far to reach. They say we make art so we can be closer to it.”

There was something different in Keith’s tone, and Shiro turned to face him, a smile breaking out across his face. Then he twined their fingers together, like all those carvings Keith so lovingly made. He thought he understood why it was so beautiful now. “I’m just happy to see it.”

The night was a blur. Shiro had too many questions, and Keith didn’t seem to care that he didn’t have enough answers. They found themselves in Keith’s home, a modest building with clay brick walls. There were cheeses that made Shiro wrinkle his nose and wine that left him pliant and giddy, but not as much the feel of Keith’s hand on his hip, or on his arm, or on his thigh. He’d never heard Keith laugh so much. He’d never been close enough to see the way his eyes crinkled when they did.

Shiro would have talked to him all night, but suddenly, someone was shaking him. It took too long to open his eyes. When he did, Keith was a blurry shadow, but he pulled Shiro down, guiding him into his mattress.

 _Are you in love with me, yet?_ Shiro wondered, with hope in his eyes, and didn’t know how anything could ever compare.

He pressed in closer, slinging an arm around Keith’s waist. Shiro couldn’t think about anything else.

The next day, Keith took him back to the workshop. He told Shiro to wait outside. He looked very pleased.

The muffled voices inside rose in anger as Shiro strained to listen, but eventually the sculpture master stormed from the workshop, leaving a grinning Keith behind. He gestured for Shiro to join him and closed the door with a laugh. “Did you see his face? He’s so upset! I know he wanted to blame me, but even he had to admit I couldn’t have carried you off by myself.”

For some reason, that made Keith blush.

Keith’s laughter was infectious and Shiro swept him up in his arms. Coran  _had_ advised to sweep Keith off his feet, and it seemed like it was working. Hand in hand, Keith explored his workshop, explaining his half-finished projects and his never-ending ideas. It lit his eyes with fire, some kind of passion that Shiro didn’t understand, but wanted to see just how hot it could burn.

“How do you do this?” Shiro carefully patted the head of a carved hunting dog. “I watched you for so long and I still don’t know.”

“You watched me? You could see me when you were, you know?”

“Sometimes. It was different, it was dark most of the time but things were clearer when you were near. I could see you work and hear you talk to me.” Shiro returned to the unfinished statue of the huntress. “Why do you stay if you can’t create what you want?”

Keith’s face pinched and he sent a dark look towards the door. “Because he thinks he owns me. Someday, I’ll buy my freedom from this place.”

“Buy?”

“He calls it an apprenticeship, but I surpassed him long ago.” Keith grumbled darkly. “I pay him to use his tools and space. Then he takes a cut of all my profits, and I cannot pay him back.”

“That sounds difficult.”

“I work with it.” Keith mumbled. “It’s not your problem. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Shiro didn’t have a way to solve that. He knew little of buying, and even less of profit, but he could hold Keith’s hand and lean against him. It made him smile.

“Are all these things real?” He asked, gesturing to the workshop at large. Keith’s face scrunched up, his mouth pinched into a moue of unease that Shiro didn’t understand, until he caught Keith looking at him.

“I don’t think they’re like you.” Keith struggled to say. Shiro laughed, and the tension in Keith’s shoulders eased. “But some are based on real things? Not specific people, but-”

“Can I see them?” Shiro moved to a poet with a large flower in his delicate hands, the hands of a scholar and a dreamer, and tender enough in his hold that the flower still looked like it could bloom. Those at his heel didn’t seem so vibrant. Keith made them that way.

“Which ones?” 

“Everything. I want to see everything.”

For a moment, Keith’s smile was radiant and Shiro’s happiness bloomed to match, but it fractured and he pulled his shoulders in. “I can’t. I can’t leave, he won’t be happy.”

Something flashed through Shiro, sudden and sharp. He tasted anger in the back of his tongue and savored it. Heavy hands closed around Keith’s arm and startled the young artist into looking up into his eyes. “He doesn’t own you. No one does, Keith. You have the talent and the skill, and I believe in you.” 

Comfort and reassurance felt natural, like he was meant to bolster Keith against the world when it was arrayed against him. And in the rare case that Keith couldn’t fight it on his own, Shiro was ready to protect him from anything that came.

Was this love? It felt like… _something_. Maybe if he helped Keith be brave, he could keep him.

Keith slipped his hand into Shiro’s and nodded, face set in determination. “Come on, let’s go.”

They made their escape and trailed laughter behind them.

 

* * *

 

The world was bigger than stone could have ever dreamed, and Shiro loved all of it. They slipped through the city, marveling at the columned buildings and rushing crowds in their spotless chitons still wrapped up in cloaks against the spring chill. They sampled every type of food from the vendors and lay in the gardens to steal the warmth from the sun. They stole days and weeks, defiant in the face of obligation.

Keith found little saffron flowers in the meadows just outside the city. He could spend hours braiding them into Shiro’s hair to crown him in color. “More tempting than Europa,” Keith promised. “But not even the Almighty could take you away.”

It could have lasted forever. Then one day they came home to find the tweedy man waiting for them at Keith’s gate, drawn to his full height by fury and impatience. Keith told Shiro to go on without him, his expression as dark a storm clouds, and when Shiro hesitated, Keith pushed.

Shiro spent a long time with his ear pressed to the door, frozen as if marble once more had settled into his veins. He only made out bits of conversation. Then Keith’s was stomping towards him, and Shiro just threw himself out of the way before the door flew open.

“That wretched old boor,” Keith grumbled, but he was pale and withdrawn, rubbing a hand against his sternum as his breath came in uneven pants. “He thinks he’s going to- he thinks he can threaten me. He thinks he can-”

Then Keith froze, his eyes gone wide before he doubled over and started coughing. It sounded like he was trying to expel all the air in his chest, his arms wrapped tight around his middle. Shiro yelled his name, rushing to his side, and Keith slumped against the wall, breathing hard. 

“Keith, are you okay?”

Keith shook himself pointedly, taking greedy gulps of air. His eyes seemed too dark, and the shadows beneath them far heavier. Then he forced himself to his feet, shook his head once more. “Let’s not think about that now. Come on. Tomorrow I want to take you to the races. The Emperor’s Champion will be competing, and I want to watch him make a fool of himself.”

 

* * *

  
  
One night of indifference turned into two, and three, and more, until the tweedy man’s greedy threats became little more than bad dreams. The days grew longer. A damp heat settled over the city, and they found every excuse to spend the night in the open air, tunics hitched up and plastered to their skin.  
  
Keith’s was teaching Shiro all the names of the stars his clients had shared with him, and the ones they didn’t, they made up together.  
  
“And that’s uh… that’s the great bear.?”  
  
“But it doesn’t look like a bear.”  
  
“I know, anyone could do a better job of naming them.” Keith scoffed around a laugh, but his breath hitched and he coughed into his fist. 

He waved away Shiro’s concern, before anything could be said, and rubbed his hand against his sore chest. “It’s fine, don’t worry. Just something caught in my throat.” He didn’t mention the rattle that echoed through his chest, but Shiro didn’t understand and didn’t press him for more. He pointed to another impossible pattern in the stars. “That one’s a lion.”

“It doesn’t look like a lion either.”

“You have to use your imagination a little bit, Shiro. Fill in the pieces!” Keith tutted and curled in closer. The stars were fascinating and beautiful, Shiro loved nothing better than to spend each night beneath them after a long day of exploring the city or helping Keith do odd jobs in the market square for coin or food, whatever they could earn.  _Almost_  nothing was better. When Keith pressed in close, sleepy and soft with the ends of his hair falling past his brow, even the stars couldn’t compare.

Keith tipped his head to look at him and Shiro found himself drowning in eyes that always had the power to draw him in. He almost felt like stone again, paralyzed so he couldn’t even breathe. His own heart thumped hard against his rib cage, wanting,  _needing_ , demanding something from him that Shiro didn’t know yet how to give. Luckily for him, Keith seemed to know the answer.

The kiss was as soft as a sigh, chaste as it brushed against Shiro’s lips, but it seemed to light him on fire from within.

Keith pulled away, but Shiro didn’t notice immediately. He blinked up at him, unable to help the way his eyes went wide. Keith wrinkled his nose, opening his mouth as if to say something before slamming it shut so violently, Shiro swore he could hear his teeth clatter.

There had been another statue by the beginning. It had been almost finished while Shiro was just learning how to see (when Keith was still shaping his eyes). Two women, twined around each other like two vines, in such a heated embrace, Shiro had hurt as he watched Keith finish the details on their knuckles, the wrinkles of their robes. Their mouths had been carved to fit one another’s. Keith called it Aphrodite’s Lover.

Shiro could have laughed. It had taken him so long to realize the obvious.

Keith cleared his throat. “It doesn’t have to be-”

Shiro cut him off with another kiss, surging forward so quickly he nearly knocked Keith on his back. Their first kiss had been chaste. The second less so. And when Keith cupped his cheek, tilted him towards him, Shiro forgot to keep count.

 

* * *

 

It was like everything had changed. Something burned inside of Shiro’s chest, his borrowed heart racing with each fevered, infatuated thought. This was love, exhilarating and consuming, with flushed cheeks and nervous confessions and sweet stolen moments that left them both smiling. They dreamed of freedom and a future and all the things neither of them had ever been able to do before.

This was what Coran had been talking about, this was what love was supposed to be. And if Keith’s hands trembled slightly as he wove together the last of the flowers or if he fell asleep soon after sundown, cradled in the warmth of Shiro’s arms as spring faded, then it was just because they were so close to everything they wanted.

“We’re running low again. I’m going to have to see if I can pick up a few errands at the marketplace, or try the docks again.” Keith said, looking into his pouch.

Shiro wrinkled his nose in solidarity. It wasn’t easy work, and the smell followed him home every time.

“I’ll help. It’ll make the work go faster.” Shiro promised.

“If we can find someone hiring.” But Keith was smiling. “But we’ll try the market first.” It felt like anything was possible as long as he had Shiro by his side. They could make it through any day, if they just stuck together. This wasn’t going to be forever. He would find some way to make use of his talents, earn a real living and build something better with Shiro by his side. Except they never got to the marketplace. The city guards were on them long before they reached it.

“Halt!” 

The armed guards surrounded them to prevent their escape, and Keith took a step back only to realize two additional guards had taken up positions behind them. He instinctively moved in front of Shiro and scowled, feeling the tension of impending trouble snap beneath his skin.

“We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re the sculptor’s apprentice, right?” The leader stepped forward and gave Keith a critical look, unimpressed.

“What of it?”

“He’s said you’ve stolen from him. Come along with us, we have some questions for you.” The guard said as Keith’s lip curled in anger.

“I haven’t taken anything from that idiot, I’m not a thief.” He hissed, hands clenching down into fists. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” 

Keith moved into a defensive position, gathering his muscles to spring. He hadn’t been trained as a soldier, but he was strong and no doubt faster than the guards in their armor, he could probably take down enough to let them escape and keep Shiro safe. In a burst of speed, he moved, raising his hand to strike just as something caught in his chest. It pulled tight like a twang, pain resonating through his body and he gasped, stumbling off balance. His attack missed, and the guard easily knocked Keith to the dirt.

Shiro had never experienced rage, but it consumed him now, launching him forward before he’d even realized he’d moved. Keith was in danger and the only thing that mattered was protecting him from anyone who’d hurt him. And if anyone tried, Shiro would tear them apart.

Then he learned fear.

The guards were stronger, faster, better trained. They cut them down before they could manage a plan, heavy swords leaving painful bruises, but they hadn’t moved to execute. Dead men couldn’t pay fines.

Shiro stood at Keith’s back, trying to block him from view, his mind racing with possibilities. If they managed to get out of the city, surely Keith’s mentor wouldn’t be able to pay them enough to follow them. Especially since Keith didn’t steal anything. Shiro just had to get them passed the guards. The closest one stepped closer, drawing his sword slowly, expression solemn and unreadable. He was shorter than Shiro, but broader around the shoulders. 

If Keith ran, Shiro would buy him as much time as he could.

“Enough.” There was a hand on Shiro’s elbow, drawing him back. Keith raised his hands in a show of surrender. “I didn’t take anything. I can’t give back what I didn’t take.”

“You’ll have to sort that out with your employer.” The guard said.

“Then take me back to see him.” Keith was unafraid, or at least he didn’t show it as he stood his ground. Shiro stood beside him as his partner, defiant as the guards wavered slightly.

“I suppose.” Their leader said sourly as they lowered their weapons, still unsure if there was going to be a fight. “Perhaps there is a way this can be cleared up without locking you up in prison.”

Shiro gave him a toothy smile. “I’m sure that’s the easiest decision.”

With a heavy sigh, the guards gestured the pair along, escorting them through the colonnade and back towards the artisan distract. Shiro didn’t say a word, just slipped his hand into Keith’s and held it tight as Keith gave him a grateful squeeze, the only sign of his fear. When they arrived at the sculptor’s workshop, Keith’s expression had grown even stormier. 

The master sculptor was waiting for them, face red with anger. He burst into loud complaints as soon as he saw them.

“That’s him! The thief who stole my latest work. It was ready to be delivered to the patron and it just disappeared right… before…” His words trailed off as he looked at Shiro in confusion, furrowing his brows as his mind refused to let him even consider the impossibly familiar man.

Shiro smiled blandly.

Keith had no trouble taking advantage of his confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man. I didn’t take anything, and even if I did, all the artwork in my workshop was built with my own two hands.”

“It is my workshop.” The tweedy man fumbled, but he regained his bearings soon enough. “And you have broken our agreement. You will return what is mine or build me a suitable replacement, or I will have the guards throw you to the lions the next time the city needs entertainment.” He sent a pointed look towards the city guard and was bolstered by his own bluster. Keith growled. It was enough to make the sculptor smile falter. His eyes narrowed to slits. “I expect to see you in the morning.”

With a decisive flick of his hand, he shooed them away, but Keith still looked like he was going to fight him. Shiro rested a hand on his shoulder and brought him back to himself.

The guards let them storm away, but not without one final warning glare. Neither of them paid it any heed.

“That stupid, selfish, greedy  _bastard_!” Keith hissed, his hands balled into fists, cheeks almost as pale as the stone he carved. “If he had any skill he-” He stopped in mid-step, dragging in a shaky breath that still caught in his throat. All at once, he was doubled-over, coughing violently as he clutched at his chest.

Shiro was at his side in an instant as he wheezed, face twisted in pain. He pressed his hand hard against his ribs where his heart rocked painfully against the bone, each beat trying to break through. The ground pitched under his feet as Keith’s head spun, only Shiro’s arms keeping him from collapsing down into the dirt.

Panic shot through Shiro like a knife as he cradled Keith close, murmuring reassurances that he didn’t believe himself. “Breathe, just breathe! You’re going to be okay, stay with me, Keith.” He didn’t let go until Keith finally took a deep, shuddering gasp, pain unwinding from his chest to leave him shaking and exhausted from the effort.

“I-I’m okay.” He wasn’t, but Keith was always willing to lie when Shiro was so worried. “It’s fine, just…I just need to rest for a minute.”

Shiro brushed back a lock of dark, sweaty hair from Keith’s face and closed his eyes in relief. He helped Keith sit on the stone steps to the workshop and settled beside him, arm still wrapped protectively around Keith’s frame as if he could protect him from the entire world. “I’m right here, I’ve got you. Nothing is ever going to hurt you while I’m here, I promise.”

Keith wanted to laugh. There was no way Shiro, or anyone truly, could make promises like that, but Shiro was so earnest, Keith almost believed him. It was easier to close his eyes, let the weight of his embrace settle something deep inside him.

It took them far too long to start moving. The burden of empty stomachs and emptier purses weighing more heavily with every step. Shiro didn’t pull away, but they had no words to fill the silence that stretched between them. Coming home no longer held the same comfort it once did, but when he noticed how Keith’s shoulders slumped, he drew him in once more.

“We’ll figure something out.” Shiro mumbled, pressing a kiss to the side of Keith’s head and nuzzling into his hair. It was his favorite thing to do, once he’d learned how. He never could seem to stop himself.

Keith laughed, but it was a strained, tired thing that Shiro almost didn’t recognize. “We will, don’t worry. I’ll… We’ll think of something.” There was the glint like steel in his gaze, a determination that made his eyes hard. “If he thinks I stole from him, then what’s stopping me now?”

“What do you mean?”

It was like a fire had lit in Keith’s soul as he turned back to look at the workshop that had taken his talent, his freedom, and most of his life. “I made everything he’s famous for, all of his best pieces are mine. If he claims I stole from him when I didn’t, but he stole from me! I could take everything that’s rightfully mine and leave him with nothing. We could sell it, use the money to travel to some other city and he’d never be able to touch us again.”

Shiro watched him quietly a moment. It was dangerous and reckless, if anything went wrong the guards would lock them away and they’d never be free. But Keith didn’t need a lecture on the risks, he needed a partner to see this through to the end. “Alright.” He agreed readily. “But we need a plan.”

When Keith gave him a startled smile at his unwavering support, Shiro knew he made the right decision.

 

* * *

 

There were perks to being formally made of stone, and even more perks at having been crafted with loving hands into an idealized shape. Shiro put all that shape into use as he helped Keith haul heavy stone statues and busts into a borrowed cart, moving quickly throughout the night to pull each piece from the workshop. He could see Keith’s touch in all of them, the stylized Persian lion, the head of Aphrodite with her long flowing hair. Maybe they all slumbered in their stone like he used to, dreaming about their creator.

“And we’ll just push out of here?” Shiro asked, just a little winded. Getting the cart had been difficult. Keith had scrounged everything he could out of their tiny home, and even then, it almost hadn’t been enough to borrow it, even for a night. Apparently bribes worked better when they weren’t short-notice.

Keith flashed him a winning smile from beneath the partially finished bust of a war horse. “If we time it right, the guard watch on the corner will be too sleepy or too drunk to notice.”

His grip slipped, just a little, and Shiro was there immediately, helping him ease it into the cart. It stared unseeingly at the opposite wall, but beneath the folded shadows, it almost looked like it could blink. Shiro traced the length of its snout carefully, even knowing the strength of its stone. Keith flashed him a grin and moved on to the next.

“Do you think they are waiting, too?” Shiro asked, almost like he hadn’t wanted to be heard. “Like me?”

Across from him, Keith hesitated, his hand still on the podium where he’d been trying to adjust his grip. In the dim, his eyes looked impossibly dark.

“There was no one like you, Shiro.”

Shiro’s borrowed heart skipped, but there was no time to enjoy its rhythms. They loaded up the cart with quiet efficiency and calmed the horse they’d liberated from their neighbor’s stables as Keith pointed out each piece that belonged to him. He remembered them all, picking them out with ease among the other works by the other “students” owned by their master. He counted each one and frowned, leaning against the side of the cart to catch his labored breath. “We’re missing one.”

“Are you sure? That’s almost everything from the workshop.” Shiro leaned over to count the statues in the cart.

“I’m sure. There’s one of the God of Love, it was one of the first ones I ever made that was good enough to keep but it wasn’t refined enough to sell. It was the one I prayed to for you.” Keith said quietly as Shiro reached out to pull him close.

“Then we’ll get it.”

“But if it’s not here, then the master must have taken it. He wouldn’t have been able to make much coin in it, why would he even want it?”

“C’mon, he lives close by, right? If he has it, then we’ll take it from him.” Shiro promised.

Keith looked wicked.

They pulled the cart out as far as they could manage and crept to a quiet home built of clay bricks around the corner from the workshop. A tall, proud fence encased it, and they completely ignored it, giving each other boosts over the wall. Shiro watched Keith disappear and caught the quiet shuffle of his landing, but when he followed suit, he found his friend curled over himself, his arms tight around his middle. A cold sweat had broken out across his brow.

“Keith!” Sharp with alarm, Shiro barely managed to quiet himself. Keith waved him off, tugged hard on Shiro’s arm like he could pull himself up with his support.

“You’re going to wake up the whole building. Come on.”

In the moonlight, he looked terrifyingly pale, but his eyes were bright with determination. He looked like one of his creations, something otherworldly and terrifying in its beauty.

“We should turn back,” Shiro said softly, like he couldn’t help himself. Something twisted in the back of his mind, an unfamiliar sense of dread that stole away his breath. Keith’s expression faltered. He was human once more, a tired, but stubborn man, and Shiro loved him dearly.

“Do you mean that?” Keith asked, and Shiro’s ribs tightened.

“No. Never.”

He didn’t mean tonight, but Keith smiled like he did.

“We’re almost done.”

“Then let’s finish this.” 

They shared the smile, the spark of excitement that burned between them as they savored the thrill. They moved through the shadows of the courtyard silently in tandem, slipping between the darkness as they crept up towards the master artisan’s small home. Shiro peeked in one of the windows, the room lit by a single low burning lamp and empty.

“No one’s there.” He said, almost disappointed as Keith followed his lead and headed towards the door. With one last quick look around, they slipped inside.

Keith paused, outrage rooting him to the spot. The inside of the home was nicer than anything the ‘students’ had, their master stealing their works as his own and the coin that went with it to give himself a lavish home stocked with fine rugs and elegant furniture. Keith recognized various pieces from the others he’d worked with, caught in the same unfair servitude. Dionysus amid leaping dolphins, a graceful woman dancer, and there in the corner, the laughing image of the winged God of Love.

All stolen, all used as careless decorations by a man who could never hope to create anything so fine. Keith clenched his hands into fists and tried to use Shiro’s words as a mantra to keep himself from tearing the room apart. It wasn’t fair! At least now, he could make sure that the master would never touch anything else he created.

“Keith?”

Shiro was behind him. Keith shook himself, trying to clear his head of his own fury. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

Shiro didn’t believe him entirely, but he smiled anyway and gestured to the God of Love. “You know, his mustache is even more impressive in person.”

Keith grinned, and in that moment, it really felt like they were going to do this.

Between them, they carried the statue out, trying to move as swiftly and as silently as possible. It took a few tries to get it over the wall. Keith climbed up first, and Shiro lifted it up to him, but getting it down without breaking proved more difficult. It seemed really rude to break the God of Love now.

They made it halfway to the cart before a voice called out, slurred and confused but no less ornery.

“Stop! What are you doin’ there?!”

Keith spun on his heel and came face to face with his teacher. Shiro gawked.

“I’m taking what’s mine.” Keith said, finding courage enough to speak. Shiro lent his strength as always, solid and dependable as the stone he was carved from, ready to fight. It settled Keith’s fear, stoking that fire inside of him. All that time wasted, all those works taken away to be sold under someone else’s name while he was bound by greed to serve. Keith wouldn’t let himself be chained any longer. He put a hand on Shiro’s arm and stepped forward to face his own demons, knowing that his friend was there to defend him no matter what.

“I knew you were a thief! I’m calling the guards, this time they’ll drag you off to prison and make sure you never get out again. This is what I get for letting some nobody street dog into my workshop.” The master sculptor sneered. “I should have left you-”

He never got to finish. Suddenly his head was there, and then it wasn’t, jerked back so roughly it was like it had been taken clear off his shoulders. Shiro blinked, but the tweedy man stumbled in place, his feet struggling for balance before he simply keeled over in the dirt. Keith stood over him, teeth bared, his fist still smarting where it had collided with the sculptor’s face. “You always told me to suffer for my craft.”

Shir’s smile was hard as marble. Keith jerked like he’d forgotten Shiro was there, then he scrambled to his side, finding his position under the heavy slab of stone. He was still breathing hard, hair plastered to his head, but Shiro thought he was absolutely lovely.

“Come on, we gotta get out of here.”

Neither of them turned back. Not even once.

They loaded the last statue up, started guiding the cart through cobbled streets. Every shadow looked like it was bound to give chase. Every corner whispered a hungry threat, but they were smiling and they were free.

“When he wakes up, he’ll call the guards.” Keith said nervously. This wasn’t the plan and calling it a plan seemed far too generous now. This wasn’t anything they’d expected. His heart couldn’t beat fast enough. It sank through his chest, dropping to his ribs, and he was panting for air, but Shiro looked at him with the stars in his eyes and a smile that could put the sun to shame.

“Then we’ll go. We’ll get out of here, and you’ll sell your statues and make more, and no one will catch us!”

And Keith whooped with his victory. His head was spinning, darkness prickling at the corner of his eyes, like the night itself was clouding his vision. It was ridiculous. It was impossible, but everything he’d ever been proud of, everything he’d ever fought for danced and bobbed in a single cart. All roads lead to the city, but every single one of them had to start somewhere else. They could go.

_They could go._

The last thing he thought, before everything went dark, was that he was sorry for stealing their neighbor’s horse.

Keith tumbled from the wagon without a word as Shiro screamed his name, yanking back on the startled horse and scrambling down. He grabbed Keith in his arms, cradling his friend’s limp body in his arms. “Keith?” He said, voice hoarse with fear. “Keith, are you okay? Wake up, it’s over. We’re safe now, we’ve made it. Open your eyes, you have to wake up.”

There was no response, no flutter to Keith’s eyes or last gasped words. It was over in an instant before Shiro even knew what was happening. Fragile mortality, a stone could never understand how easily something could end. Shiro touched Keith’s cheek with shaking fingertips, struggling to comprehend. The life had faded so quickly and the laughter had stopped. It was still Keith but empty somehow, ended. How?  _Why?_

“You can’t do this.” He whispered as a tear slid down his face to spatter on Keith’s chest. “We were almost free. This was love, it had to be love, right? I was supposed to keep you. I-I, I don’t know what to do, Keith. I don’t know how to help. Please…please, wake up?”

The pleas trailed off into muffled sobs as he held Keith’s body close, confused at the sudden and inexplicable loss. They were free, it was time to start all those dreams about a life together. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Shiro pressed his hand against his aching chest as his own borrowed heart slowed without his creator to make it beat.

“Wake up, Keith.”

“Come back to me?”

“I love you.”

They found him just before dawn, the sculptor’s rogue apprentice, folded on the ground beside an impatient horse and a borrowed cart. The evidence of his crime was as clear as day, and his furious master was able to fill in any details that were not immediately obvious. But there was one oddity, a peculiarity that no explanation could be found for.

One of the stolen statues stood outside the cart, separated from the rest, its features as lovely as the day they’d been carved. It stood like a sentinel over the thief, almost like it was watching over him.

 


	2. You Make My Bedrock

Shiro slept.

Cold stone was easier than the memory of a beating heart and the pain that came from losing it. He’d failed at love, and lost Coran’s gift because he wasn’t able to hold on. It was easier to sleep, to become unmoving and unfeeling to the world like he had always meant to be before Keith’s chisel had freed him from the marble. But Shiro had made a deal with a god, and magic slept with him.

Around him, the world changed. It fell apart, rebuilt, shattered, advanced. He was buried in rubble and traded in war, a trophy to be admired far from the land of his creation. His meaning was lost if there’d ever been one at all, and it meant nothing to a statue. The living world had always been strange, only one thing in it had ever made sense.

And then, there was a touch. Warmth seeping into the stone and sending echoes of loss through him, drawing him from sleep. A different sort of memory, one with lungs full of air and the softness of skin. The voice of a god in his ear told him to move.

_What if I can’t?_

_Then you will regret it for all time._

Shiro wanted to say that he could live with that. It wasn’t truly life, not without Keith, but his chest started to throb, the beating of an unfamiliar heart sending blood through emptied veins.

The next time he opened his eyes, everything was bright.

Then shadow came, and color. It swirled together, filling in the spaces of a spacious room of rich silks and pieces of glittering gem. A sword like Shiro had never seen before adorned the stone walls over a pair of polished swords. It was a harsher sort of beauty and completely unfamiliar, and his head spun. His legs buckled, knees gone weak. He could still feel the weight of Keith’s body in his lap, eyes closed as if in sleep, and Shiro stumbled. He had to get out of here.

Blindly, he grabbed for a sheet on the wall and wrapped it around himself like a toga. Stone was cold beneath his bare feet. His head spun with the weight of years he would never remember, and heart ached for all he’d lost. A wave of dizziness overcame him, and Shiro bolted out the closest door.

There was a scrape of metal, the flash of steel. A sword was leveled at his chest. The last thing Shiro saw was a pair of brilliant purple eyes.

Then the world went dark.

When he woke, he was somewhere impossibly soft and wonderfully warm. The headache had abated, pulsing just along his eye sockets but no longer as demanding. It faded as soon as he heard a voice.

“If you are an assassin, you are the worst one I’ve ever met.”

“I-what?” Shiro’s tongue tripped over the unfamiliar words, understanding their meaning even as they tasted foreign. Whatever this place was, it had changed him, too. He tried to sit up and found a thin, razored edge of steel to his throat.

“Easy.” The voice warned. “Even a terrible assassin shouldn’t be trusted.”

“I’m not an assassin.” Shiro grumbled, rubbing his hands along his temples. “What happened, why am I here?”

“A good question. When an almost naked man shows up alone in the royal chambers it could really be only one of two things. I assumed the worst.” There was laughter in the voice now and Shiro couldn’t keep from scowling. “Are you saying you’re not a killer?” The tip of the sword traced down the edge of Shiro’s face and stopped as he found himself staring into those violet eyes again.

They were the same, but there was a confident glint to them now. The lips Shiro had known so well were set in a smirk that seemed to suit him. The gentle hands were covered in leather gloves and gripping a weapon with surety, his frame more filled out like he’d finally been given enough to eat. Different and the same all at once, it made the world spin around Shiro, and his own voice crack.

“Keith?”

Keith frowned, but it was him, alive and well all over again, and Shiro’s traitorous heart was pounding a mile a minute. It was Keith, but not Keith, not the one he remembered, the one who’d shown him how to connect the stars, and he didn’t expect relief to hurt so much. It cored through his chest, digging a cavern that Shiro could feel with every breath, and he squeezed his eyes shut before the heat behind them could make it worse.

“Hey, are you…”

On the far end of the room, someone knocked, and with less hesitation than he should have, Keith lowered his weapon. A tall woman in a modest dress came in, curtsying as she entered. “Your Highness, the preparations for this evening are underway.”

If she noticed Shiro, she had the good grace to remain silent.

Shiro couldn’t hear what Keith said next. They spoke in hushed tones that were only too easy to ignore when it felt like a storm was roaring beneath his ribs.

Shiro hadn’t moved when Keith returned, but he’d scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to will some of his composure back into place. Any progress he’d made shattered the moment Keith cleared his throat, and the hollowness in his chest throbbed.

“I’ve sent for a robe for you.” Keith said. He hadn’t reached for his sword again. Shiro couldn’t say he cared either way. “Enough of the games. Where did you come from?”  

Keith was haughty in a way that Shiro had never seen. Powerful. This wasn’t the stubborn, rough and tumble boy he’d known so long ago, this man spoke with authority though Shiro could still recognize the same passionate flame burning behind his eyes.

Shiro’s shoulders slumped, the weight of them almost too much to bear, but he murmured. “I-I…” The truth was still stone on his tongue. He couldn’t explain when he didn’t understand himself. “Magic?”

There was a pause. Keith turned away from him with a breathy exhale, then he was crawling across the bed to reach for Shiro. His grip was rough but not cruel, and he cradled Shiro’s face in his hands, peering at his eyes with an unnerving focus. Shiro flinched. When he pulled away, Keith let him go, still frowning.

“While I appreciate the gift of an attractive, unclothed man in my bed, you need to work on your delivery.”

The door opened with less decorum, and in strode a tall man with long white hair pulled back and bound into a long ponytail. Shiro’s grip tightened in the blankets, confusion writ in broad strokes across his face, and he caught Keith’s gaze with wide eyes. For some reason it only made Keith’s frown deepen.

“I hear you’ve found a trespasser in our private hall, brother.”

Keith winced. “Lotor, you’re… here.”

Lotor smiled. Shiro didn’t know what to make of it. The older of the pair sent him one, quick glance at him. “Is this why you missed the latest council meeting? I thought I’d find you in the training yard, though I’m not surprised you’re here instead.” 

“I didn’t come to the council meeting because I’m tired of listening to old men argue about nothing. We need action, not words, they’re never going to understand that. The rebels advance daily, and all they do is cluck around like hens.”

“Keith, there is more to battle than brute strength and tournaments.” Lotor’s voice softened, an old argument they’ve had a thousand times and Keith was too impatient for another go around. He gave Shiro one last lingering look, stripping him bare with just his eyes until Shiro felt all his weaknesses were exposed.

Shiro stood, ignoring the abrupt dismissal as the world felt like it was spinning beneath his feet. “Keith, don’t you recognize me? I came back for you, I’m here because I get to try again after losing you the first time. I won’t make that mistake again, I’ll protect you. I swear it!”

Emotion choked the words as Shiro put his hand to his chest, an oath sworn over his borrowed heart. Keith turned back to look at him strangely. Torn between two affairs, he held no hint of understanding for the stranger, and something within Shiro broke. How? He’d come to life for him, how could Keith forget everything when Shiro could relive every moment in crystal sharp memory?

“Please.” He tried again, softening his voice and holding out his hands. The ones that Keith had known so well once, carving them painstakingly from the stone. “Please remember me?”

“I don’t know you.” The words cut deep into living flesh, and Shiro closed his eyes as if struck. “See yourself out.” Without another word, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Shiro alone with the unfamiliar prince.

“If you were hoping to win his affections like that, I’d say you don’t know him well enough.” Lotor said, looking out towards the hall where Keith had vanished. “He feels he has something to prove. Anyways, perhaps you could find yourself a pair of pants and vacate my brother’s rooms? Unless I need to get the guards to escort you out.”

“No I, I don’t have anything.” Nothing had prepared him for this. Everything from the walls to the floors to the smell of the air was unfamiliar and unnerving. In the last seconds of his life, Shiro had feared loneliness and grief, but this was his first time being truly alone. 

“I’m an artist?” He blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which had always been Keith. He had none of the sculptor’s skill or his practice, but he’d watched Keith work for as long as he’d had eyes to see. The prince seemed confused by his answer before waving him off with the eccentricities of his profession.

“You’re the one? I was told you were delayed with a previous patron. Have your belongings not come with you to the castle?”

Luck was on Shiro’s side, or perhaps a god who was still watching out for him. Shiro let out a breathe of relief as Lotor accepted the lie. “No, they were taken?” It was more of a question than anything, but it was a partial truth. Everything had been taken from them until he and Keith had stolen them back from the master sculptor all those years ago. He fed Lotor bits and pieces of a broken story, not knowing enough about this strange world to lie, but whatever gaps he couldn’t answer were explained by an exhaustion he didn’t have to feign.

“And the first place you come to is my brother’s private rooms. With no clothes.”

“Yes?”

Lotor rubbed his nose again. “Come, let’s get you settled.”

 

* * *

 

Lotor was not what Shiro had been expecting. After Keith’s hostility, he was wary of meeting the new prince, but found himself surprised. Lotor was measured and thoughtful, working from early morning to long after the sun had set, still bent over his writing desk scribbling off missives and reviewing pleas for justice. He had his hands in everything, from the management of the castle, to governing the lands beyond. How he managed to find the energy, Shiro would never know. He found himself constantly at the Prince’s right hand, expected to observe and to sketch as he “planned” his latest artistic endeavor. Shiro had no idea how he would ever pull that off.

Even though he garnered the attention of one prince, the other kept his distance. Lotor was kind, if extremely dedicated to his duties, but Shiro looked for Keith at every opportunity. He scanned the halls, searched the training yards where the soldiers of the castle drilled from morning to afternoon. He caught sight of him at the lavish dinners, just glimpse of dark hair at the other end of a long table with too many people and too many conversations. None of it really mattered if Keith didn’t so much as look up.

He didn’t know where to find him. It felt like he’d been searching for so long, and sometimes his heart would trip, like over an uneven stone, and Shiro would be afraid for no reason he could put to words. 

Maybe he was just lonely.

That was, until he spotted a familiar figure. Shiro gasped.

He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going. He knew he wouldn’t be bothered here. Certain sections of the royal wing were opened to him, dressed now as a distinguished guest, but they were large enough that his exploration had been limited. He’d never come down this way before. It was the first time he saw it. Him.

In a large painting, nearly as tall as Shiro, was an unforgettable face. He was younger, his hair lightened, cheeks fuller. There was a strange sense of disconnection, but Shiro wouldn’t dwell on it, not when it was so unmistakably the God of Love. “Coran!” He cried out. “It’s you! They know you!”

“Actually, they call me Cupid more often these days.” The painting winked, fluttering its wings as the silk sash slipped a little bit lower down its cherubic backside. Shiro would have sighed if he hadn’t been so excited. “Look at you, back among the living. Guess you found your soulmate.”

“Soulmate?” The word meant nothing to him, and Shiro wrinkled his nose. “Coran, this whole thing is a mess. Everything’s different and Keith doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t even like me, I can’t get anywhere near him to talk with him.”

“Now that could be a problem. You’ll still need to understand love if you want to stay like this.” Coran gestured with one heart-tipped arrow. “You were so close.”

“He  _died_.” The words came out in a harsh snarl and Coran flitted back and forth in the painting like he could dart away from Shiro’s wrath. “I couldn’t save him and then I was locked back into stone. What good is this if I can’t protect him?”

“That’s something you need to find the answer to all on your own. You’re the one who wanted life so badly. If you’re going to keep it, you need to at least know what it means to be human.”

“I don’t know what that means! If you wanted me to love him, I did. I do. And I’m sure he loved me. We shared a first kiss, we were ready to start something new!” Shiro cried as Coran just shook his head sympathetically.

“That’s a piece of it, but there’s so much more for you to learn. But I believe in you crazy kids, that’s why I gave you a little bit of my mojo in the first place.” The God of Love gave an exaggerated wink, twitching his bushy mustache that looked ridiculous on the baby angel’s face.

Shiro was oblivious to its charm. 

“I don’t know where to go from here.” He whispered, his head hanging low. “I keep thinking that, if I just get the chance to talk to him, I can fix this but…”

But how could he fix a life lost? How could he reconcile it with a life that he no longer felt a part of?

Coran seemed to take pity on him. He reached out, and for a moment, Shiro swore the canvas of the painting shimmered. It never broke, but something in his chest felt a little warmer. “Well. That much, I think I can help you with.”

“What are you doing here?”

That voice sent shivers down Shiro’s spine, far too familiar and not at all in the same breath. He spun around and there Keith was, in beaten leather and muddy boots, his hair plastered to his head, chest heaving. Shiro blushed in kind, but he stood straighter, fixed Keith with a wary stare no matter how madly his heart beat.

“I’m waiting for you to draw your sword.”

There was something endlessly satisfying about the way Keith gawked. Then the prince rallied, and let out a self-deprecating laugh.

“What, hasn’t my brother started kept you busy enough?” Keith said, but there was an edge to his words that made them sound more like a taunt. His Keith wasn’t so cruel or so jaded, even when he’d been hurt. He’d worn his anger and his passions openly, but he’d never turned them on anyone who hadn’t earned their sharpness.

“No. If that bothers you, why don’t you do it?” Shiro fought to keep his voice calm, answering snide barbs with patience. “If I win, then you talk to me.”

The challenge seemed throw Keith off balance and Shiro watched confusion replace the guarded hostility. “You really want to fight me, artist?”

“No, but if this is the only way I can get you to listen, then I will.”

“So what happens if I win?”

“What do you want?” Shiro asked as Keith paused for a moment.

“I want you to stop following my brother around like a lost puppy.”

Shiro laughed. He couldn’t help it. It made Keith scowl. “I don’t-” Shiro cleared his throat. “He’s nice, you know.”

“No, that’s not the issue.” If possible, Keith scowled even further. Shiro shrugged.

“A little kindness goes a long way.” It made a difference, especially at a time where so little was offered. He didn’t know why that seemed to make Keith bristle further. “I don’t have a sword though. Where can I get one?”

The prince eyed him warily, then he surprised Shiro by reaching for his own scabbard, and wordlessly offered it to Shiro. Shiro hesitated, but only for a moment, before he took it in hand, tried to measure its heft. It was, as far as he could assume, a nice sword. It was polished. Keith would be the type to care for his things.

“You’ve never held one before.”

Keith wasn’t asking a question, and Shiro coughed. “First time for anything. What’ll you use?”

“If we were both armed, this wouldn’t be fair.”

“It’s not fair as it is if I have a weapon and you’re unarmed. What if you get hurt?” The concern was clear and Keith looked startled again, unsure of how to challenge actual kindness. He settled on haughty, but there was a smile on his lips that set Shiro’s borrowed heart thumping against his ribs.

“I’ll bet I can disarm you in ten seconds.”

“You’re on.”

The hallways weren’t the ideal place for a duel, but Shiro wasn’t going to suggest they move anywhere else where someone could see him take a swing at the prince, even if he was careful. He edged closer, lifting the unfamiliar weight of the blade. Keith used his carefulness against him, knowing full well Shiro would hesitate to strike. With a sharp kick, Keith sent the blade spinning from Shiro’s hands and took a dancing step back, shrugging with a wry grin.

“Told ya.”

“Okay, now you’ve asked for it.” Shiro tugged at the edge of one of the tapestries on the wall, pulling it from its hooks and using the distraction to launch himself at Keith.

Shiro caught him in a wave of fabric, wrapping his arms tight around Keith with a choked laugh. He just didn’t know what to do with him once he had him. The prince burst from his trap, twisting out of the way to turn Shiro’s advantage on him. Shiro squawked the whole way down.

Shiro had strength and reach on his opponent, but Keith had a lifetime of training and a nigh insatiable urge to be the best. Shiro never stood a chance. With something between a war cry and a laugh, he found himself on his back, an arm pinned above him and a knee in his gut. Keith tested his grip once, then backed off, holding Shiro down and without putting any weight on him.

“Ow.” Shiro intoned. Keith laughed again, and this time it sounded softer.

Very carefully, he let him up, rubbing one of Shiro’s wrists gently. “That was worse than I expected.”

“I told you I haven’t had a lot of experience.” Shiro said wryly, not mentioning Keith’s hands on his arms for fear he’d chase away the careful touch. “Maybe you could train me?”

The hands paused and Shiro caught his breath, cursing himself silently for pushing too hard. But then the rhythm resumed, Keith’s thumbs easing the ache along his wrists. “My brother thinks training is a waste of time. If you don’t want to get on his bad side, you ought to avoid being associated with my thuggish habits.”

“He’s been kind, why would he stop me from training with you? An artist should know all about his subjects, I might need the inspiration.” He must have done something wrong, Keith’s smile had faded at the mention of Lotor and all Shiro wanted was to bring it back. “How else am I supposed to beat you if you don’t give me a chance?”

There it was, the faint quirk to Keith’s lip. He never could resist a good challenge. “There is no way you’d ever beat me, even with some training.”

“Prove it.”

“I’m not the one with something to prove.”

Keith made a face at that. Shiro couldn’t say he understood it, but he jut his jaw and grinned back. For now, that was more than enough. Keith smacked Shiro’s chest than got to his feet, pulling himself up in a carelessly graceful motion.

“Tomorrow morning, at dawn. Meet me at the main courtyard. You’ll train with the palace guard.”

Shiro dusted himself off, his expression not faltering. “You’re going to have to apologize to them once I start showing them up.”

That had Keith laughing all over again, and Shiro’s heart clenched like Keith had reached through his chest to grab it. He reached out like he could hug Keith, and caught himself just in time. If Keith noticed, he didn’t say a thing.

 

* * *

 

Shiro panted for breath, skin slick with sweat and his muscles ached. At least he wasn’t the only one affected by the glaring summer heat. Keith had stripped down to just his breeches, flushed bright red with his damp hair plastered down on his head. But even hot and exhausted, Keith still danced around lightly on the balls of his feet as he raised the wooden practice sword.

“Is that all you’ve got?” He teased and Shiro rose to the challenge with a grin, lifting his own wooden blade in defense.

This had become their time, when the training yard was too hot for the drilling soldiers who fled to find shade and rest from the afternoon sun. There was no one watching as the prince taught Shiro how to fight. It was strange how their roles had been reversed. Shiro remembered teaching Keith his patience and his focus, tempering the red-hot flame within him to work towards his goals instead of consume him. Now, that fire fueled Keith’s boundless energy, pushing him to work harder, train more, prove he was his best. It was all Shiro could do to keep up.

He was a good teacher.

Or maybe Shiro was just an apt pupil.

With a quick lunge and rapid twist, he unburdened Keith of his sword, eyes a little too bright and grin a little too wild. It fell to the dirt with a puff of dust, and Shiro was almost preening. Then Keith swept his feet out from under him, and sent him, and he toppled to the ground with a breathless oof. Shiro reached for his sword, but Keith’s sandal was already on its hilt. The prince’s mouth was pinched into a sharp line. By now, Shiro knew he was trying not to smile.

“Don’t forget-”

“The fight doesn’t stop when you get the upper hand.” Shiro intoned, a hint of exasperation bleeding through, but it was gone by the time Keith reached out to pull him to his feet. He came up with a laugh, dusting himself off, and Keith handed his sword back to him before retreating to the edge of the field to grab them both a drink.

“At least you’ve been paying attention.” Keith teased, throwing him a waterskin and taking a deep drink from his own. Shiro tried and failed to ignore Keith’s throat moved when he swallowed or the drops of water that caught on his lip before being carelessly wiped away. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he took a sip.

“I always do. I gave you a challenge, I’m going to make sure I win it.” He said, enjoying the way Keith’s eyes brightened.

“We’ll just have to see about that. You are patient though, I’ll give you that. Anyone else would have given up after the trouncing I gave you.”

“Patience yields focus. I know what I want and nothing is going to stop me from having it.” Shiro said seriously as Keith’s eyes slid sideways and a red flush crept into his skin.

“So I see. Maybe that should be all for today, you’ll need to get cleaned up. I hear my brother wants to show you off to some visiting scholar from blah blah boring whatever.” Keith waved his hand. “I need to get back to focusing on my training for the tournament.”

“Don’t you want to meet that scholar, too?” Shiro asked, just to watch Keith wince a little. Shiro laughed. The meetings were boring, and he always felt like the guests were talking at him, if not too him, but Prince Lotor made sure that he wasn’t left adrift when these things got heated. Shiro was thankful for that. Otherwise, he was sure he’d feel as bad as Keith did right now. “Or I can help you train tomorrow? Make it up to you.”

Keith blinked slowly, and Shiro almost wondered if he’d said something wrong.

“Is that- If you want to.” Keith started, then pursed his lips. “It won’t be exciting.”

Shiro shrugged. “Maybe you need someone there to make sure you don’t over do it.”

Keith turned away quickly and took a drink, his expression hidden behind his water flask, but Shiro didn’t think it was all that bad. “How much longer do you have to train anyway?”

“As long as it takes.” Keith tried to make the words sound like a nonchalant boast, but Shiro could see the truth behind them. He was skilled and not because of natural talent. He worked hard to make himself the best, driven by a need to succeed and to prove himself against the world. It struck a chord, a small echo of the young man who had brought him to life and fought for the same sort of unattainable perfection all to be recognized on his own. “The tournament is at the end of the summer. If I win, I can finally-, I can show them what I can do.”

In that moment, it wasn’t hard to see how much Keith hadn’t changed from one life to the next and Shiro’s heart ached to pull him close and promise him that he was already worth everything. It wouldn’t go over well, and Shiro forced himself to keep his distance.

“I’ll be back when I can. If you’re going to work that hard, then the least I can do is offer you a decent partner.” Shiro promised, winning one of Keith’s rare laughs.

“That sounds good to me.”  
  
Shiro left with Keith still practicing, with half a mind to stay, but there was at least one layer of sweat and grime he needed to wash off, and he had promised Lotor he would be there. It shouldn’t take long. These things hardly ever did. Shiro had a spiel by now, a series of safe topics that always seemed to come up, and afterwards, maybe Keith would be finished.   
  
Shiro moved as quickly as he was able, fussing with the little tassels across his shoulder, even if he could never quite get it the way the princes wore.   
  
He wasn’t late yet, or Lotor would’ve sent for him. He probably shouldn’t have, but stone was not built with deceit in mind. It was easy to convince himself to take a detour around the courtyard.   
  
Even from a distance he could hear the familiar sounds of battle. They were harsher now, punctuated with clangs of metal instead of the dull thumps of wood. Shiro caught sight of Keith almost immediately. He sparred with an auburn-haired guard Shiro vaguely recognized.  
  
The differences were glaring.  
  
Against a partner he didn’t have to hold back for, Keith’s every movement was economical and precise, built with devastating speed and ruthless power. They carved circles in the dirt as they fought, neither willing to surrender. It was impressive, but a knot formed in Shiro’s chest. It twisted with every passing second.   
  
“Somehow I knew you would be here.”  
  
Lotor’s voice was honey-smooth, and Shiro looked up, startled.

“I’m sorry, I-”

The prince waved Shiro’s excuses away with a lazy hand and sighed, watching his younger brother below. Shiro shifted, unsure, but it was hard to keep his attention on anything but the way Keith moved. It was like watching him sculpt, bringing life and beauty out of his movements. Except now instead of creation, he was an instrument built to kill. His speed was astounding, pushing himself to his limits as the guard matched his pace. Always demanding more, always rising to the challenge of it. Shiro could even catch the glimpse of Keith’s grin, bright beneath his helmet.

“He’s talented. He always has been.” Lotor said, sounding almost sad.

“Is that a bad thing? Look at him, he’s…” Shiro struggled to find the words, unused to giving shape to the emotions locked in stone. “He’s driven. He just needs to focus and he could be unstoppable.”

“Or he could burn himself out. His skill has never been in question, that anger is just going to consume him if he’s not careful. The kingdom doesn’t need another dead warrior, it needs a prince who cares more for it than personal pride.” Lotor clasped Shiro on the shoulder. “Trust me, this isn’t something you want to watch. Come with me, we have a lot to discuss and I have more questions for you. I value your judgement.”

Shiro glanced towards the training yard, uncertainty brewing in his chest. He felt Lotor’s hand slip away. When he looked back, the Prince was shaking his head.  
  
“You know where to find me.”  
  
Shame was still an unfamiliar thing, and it flared in Shiro’s chest, but gratitude rushed after it, to soothe remaining hurts. “Thank you. I won’t be long.”

He’d lied though. He spent longer than he would have liked, watching Keith. When the guard helped Keith back to his feet after a devastating blow, and they stood together far too closely. Something sparked between them, driven by the summer heat and the rush of battle. When Keith smiled, it was feral and full of want. The soldier answered in kind, pressing the prince back against the wall to kiss. Another fight, rough and taking as their training had been.

Something ugly twisted in Shiro’s chest that he didn’t have a word for. A betrayal that he couldn’t rightfully claim. A hopeless hollow feeling with a desire that flared so brightly it left him gasping. Keith yanked the soldier down and Shiro could hear the breathy laugh. He  _wanted_  like he never had before, nothing delicate or pure about the rush that swept through him. This was new and intense as it set his body on fire, wishing he was the one who could startle the moan from Keith’s lips or slide to his knees before him.

The rest of the night moved on. Shiro didn’t remember leaving. He didn’t remember the visiting scholar, or Lotor’s warm praise. He only remembered Keith. The vision haunted his dreams, dogging beyond sense and logic, and blurring the past and present until Shiro ached for what could have been. He woke breathless and trembling on too many nights, his heart racing through his chest and mouth painfully dry. But worst of all was the chill of an empty bed, when memories of his best friend were so vibrant they almost felt real.

Shiro couldn’t keep doing this. He needed Keith. He had to have him.

 

* * *

 

“Have you ever heard of the great hero Bellerophon?”

“How great a hero could he have been if I haven’t heard of him?” Keith looked up as Shiro dusted himself off, shaking his arms free of any sore points. They were in-between rounds, having gone long enough that they both needed to catch their breath.

Shiro had picked his timing with care.

“Maybe if you’d heard about him, you’d spend less time getting knocked to the dirt.”

“Well it hasn’t helped you any.”

“Yes, but I’m hopeless.”

Keith laughed and waved Shiro on, gesturing for him to take a seat.

“Bellerophon captured the untamable Pegasus,  a winged horse fast enough to out-fly even lightning. In his pride, he flew him to the home of the gods, where the almighty struck him to his death as punishment.”

“Are you trying to give me some kind of lesson? I thought I was the one schooling you?” Keith grinned, wiping the sweat from the side of his face. “How great could he be if he fell off his flying horse and died?”

Shiro rolled his eyes, winning another laugh from his prince and letting the sound fill him with warmth. “You might be better than me at combat for now, but that doesn’t mean you’re the best at everything.” He poked Keith in the chest.

“Okay, so what’s the lesson?”

“Don’t be so proud or you’ll end up on your ass.” Shiro teased, sweeping Keith’s legs out from under him. The prince went down with an angry squawk, flailing the entire way. With a howl, Shiro doubled over laughing as Keith glared and pulled himself up to his feet.

“Hey! I wasn’t ready.”

“Are you always going to be ready in battle, Your Highness? Aren’t you the one who keeps telling me that I need to be aware of my enemy at all time?”

Keith scowled, and Shiro smirked, taking a big gulp of his water, his back turned just slightly. When Keith moved he was ready for him. Keith lunged to knock him down and Shiro dropped his waterskin and outstretched his arms, the perfect way to catch an oncoming prince. They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and indignant squeaks, and Shiro rolled them over. He flopped on top of Keith, and proceeded to tickle him without mercy or quarter. The prince shrieked, and Shiro didn’t stop until one of Keith’s bony elbows slammed into his gut, and all he could do was laugh as he was tumbled into the dirt.

Dark hair spilled over Keith’s shoulders like a curtain, his features flushed with warmth and effort. With the setting sun at his back, his eyes looked so bright, and Shiro reached up, one hand going to his waist before he could stop himself.

Keith laughed and rolled away. Shiro didn’t know how to stop him. “This was not how I expected to end our session.”

“Does it have to end?” All Shiro could think about was the way Keith had pulled the soldier in close. They had been an equal, impressing the prince with more skill than Shiro possessed. If he could only prove himself as strong a warrior, then maybe Keith would look at him the same way. Maybe then, Keith would pull him into some dark shadow and Shiro would get this love thing right.

Maybe then, Shiro could actually keep Keith this time.

Keith grinned and started gathering up their gear. “You’re starting to sound like me. My brother lectures me when I push that hard.”

“If you can do it, then so I can.” He was confident, determined. If Keith could be as stubbornly dedicated, then so could he. Combat might not come so naturally to him, but he would work to hone his skills and prove his worth if it meant he could win affection from his prince.

“Tomorrow, I promise. My brother has ‘requested’ my attendance at the dinner tonight, apparently there’s some liege lords who are visiting from the outer provinces and are making some kind of demand for greater autonomy.” Keith curled his lip. “I don’t care about politics, there’s no reason I should go.”

“Come on, one more round. If you don’t want to go, then why bother?” Shiro laughed, but it got Keith to stop, his expression softening into something unfamiliar but earnest. Shiro didn’t think he’d ever seen his Keith wield that particular one. 

This was something that belonged entirely to the prince.

“Because he’s my brother.” Keith said. Then Keith shook himself, and dropped his gear, turning to Shiro and dramatically brandishing his sword. When he smiled it was small and pointed - not insincere, that was not Keith’s way around friends and allies, but all the more restrained in its honesty. “One last round then. Show me what you can do.”

Shiro held nothing back.

He lunged at Keith, immediately feigning right to duck out of the counter attack he knew Keith would have prepared. Shiro was nothing if not persistent. Swords clashed with dull thuds that Shiro felt all the way to borrowed bones, his blood racing in his veins until it felt like he would burn up from the inside.

They danced through the courtyard, Shiro clinging to his ground with a white knuckled grip, and Keith with his hair soaked in sweat. It was a misstep, an accident. Keith didn’t block fast enough or turned too soon, distracted by a sudden sharp pain in his chest that plucked his heart like a string. A wooden trained sword slammed into the side of his skull, and in a blink, he knew nothing.

“Keith!” 

He could hear the voice distantly, but Keith couldn’t seem to respond. He blinked his eyes open and pain bloomed along his skull. With a groan, he pressed his hands against his head, fingers coming away sticky with blood.

“Say something, c’mon. Keith?”

“I’m okay.” He croaked, trying to focus on Shiro’s face. It took too much effort to smile, but he managed and Keith let out a breath in relief. “What happened?”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen. Don’t try to move right now, hang on. I can clean this up.” Shiro was on his feet in an instant, darting back to find a clean cloth and pouring out water from his waterskin before holding it gingerly to Keith’s temple. “This is all my fault.”

Keith laughed, but it was high-pitched and strained. Then there was a steady grip under his arms, and he was being hoisted up. He found himself with his head on Shiro’s lap, his eyes still mostly shut, and the look of such open concern on the stranger’s face that Keith winced.

“You can’t impress people like this.” Shiro said, still carefully wiping blood off the gash across Keith’s brow. It still stung.

“I’m not doing this to impress anyone,” Keith said slowly, but his eyes had fallen shut, humbled by the weight of Shiro’s steady hand and a rush of nausea. “Besides, this is the first time you got a hit on me.”

Right now, Shiro couldn’t say he enjoyed any of Keith’s jokes. “You’ve been at it every time I walk past the courtyard. Some tournament can’t this important.”

Keith quieted. For a moment, there was nothing to focus on except the sluggish bleeding across his brow. The sharp tang of copper felt far too bright. He swore he could taste it.

“It’s not just the tournament,” Keith whispered at length.

“Then why do you push yourself so hard?”

Keith chewed his lip, the vulnerability of being honest an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling. But Shiro’s hands were sure as they cleaned his cut and there was something calming about how steady he could be. “My brother is going to be king.”

“And you’re doing this to challenge him?”

“Oh god no, no way.” Keith huffed, irritated by the very idea. “He’s this, he’s a warrior, sure. He’s smart, he’s charismatic. He knows how to walk into a room and everyone falls all over themselves to speak with him. He knows exactly what to say to unite everybody. He’s so  _good,_  Shiro, for everyone. I…can’t do that.” He finished lamely.

A small smile tugged at the edge of Shiro’s mouth. “You don’t have to be like him.”

“Really? Because my whole life I haven’t been good enough to live up to him. I never know what to say! I cause problems every time I open my mouth, I’m too impatient. I can’t be what he wants me to be, I’m not a leader or a prince. I’m not anything. At least here, I’m good at something. I can mean something.”

Keith curled into himself at the admission and for a moment, Shiro could see behind the wall he’d built around himself. On the training grounds, he’d always seemed so sure of himself and his skills, taking down opponents and pulling that soldier into his intimate shadow with ease. He walked the halls of the castle with authority, confident in his place as prince. But it hid the insecurities and suddenly, he was that young man all those years ago who wanted so badly to create something of his very own that he could actually hold on to.

“You’re worth more than how you can fight.”

The prince gave a startled laugh. “To whom?”

“To me, for one.”

Keith cracked a smile, but he wouldn’t meet Shiro’s eye directly. “Artists are easy to impress?”

Shiro returned it without hesitation. “Only for someone impressive.”

The bleeding had slowed. Cleaned and drying it didn’t look all that alarming. Shiro fluffed Keith’s hair over it, trying to hide it. He was somewhat successful, but he got Keith to laugh.

“If you’re not feeling better after dinner, you should come see me.” Shiro said, his voice an exercise in nonchalance.

“Are you going to tell me more stories that bowl me over?” Keith asked blandly.

“I can’t promise you won’t end up on your back.”

Keith laughed, sharp and bright, and it pierced through what lingered of his melancholy. Shiro’s hand lingered on the small of his back as he helped him to his feet.

“We’ll see.” Keith said, not quite a promise, but Shiro held on to it anyway, through their goodbyes and through his lonely dinner, through a long, warm shower and the darkening night. Then there was a knock on his door, and a prince right behind it.

 

* * *

 

The summer evenings stayed hot long after the sun went down. Castle stone clung to the heat and the opened windows were all too thin to encourage a breeze. It was stifling and sweat clung to Shiro’s skin, but he reveled in the heat. He pressed Keith down into the linen sheets, earning a broken groan from kiss-bruised lips.

Training was forgotten, their practice armor scattered on the floor and abandoned. He hadn’t mastered Keith’s skill with a blade, but that had never been the way to prove himself Keith’s equal. That came with patience, with compassion. With meeting Keith’s steel with focus and helping him drive the weapon home. With being someone who believed in him and finding the value Keith could never see in himself. Winning that same loyalty in return.

And so much more.

Keith dug his fingers into the muscles of Shiro’s back, spurring him on with broken demands he was only too eager to obey. He licked the salt from Keith’s skin, dragging his mouth down Keith’s collarbone as the prince tipped his head back against the pillow.

Shiro painted bruises with his teeth, biting down until pinks and reds bloomed across Keith’s skin. They’d flood with darker shades later, when the candles ran low and shadows spilled into the room, but now they tasted like salt and skin, and Keith’s breath hitched every time Shiro dragged the flat of his tongue across them.

“Come on- come on…” Little more than a whimper, and Keith shuddered as Shiro’s grip tightened around his hips, coaxing him higher. The curve of his ass dragged across Shiro’s lap, his legs akimbo as far as they’d go, and it still didn’t feel like enough. He wanted closer, deeper. Desire made wild by the feel of Shiro’s cock dragging through him, clenching as he pulled back, and shuddering with each thrust. His cock dribbled precum across his belly, a steady stream that dripped down to his belly button, overflowed and spilled down his chest, and Shiro did something that made it throb. Keith gasped, digging his nails into the meat of Shiro’s shoulders, almost hard enough to draw blood, his entire body trembling.

Shiro hushed him with a kiss, stealing each choked sound straight from his lips. Keith always had more to give.

He wrapped his hand around Keith’s cock with a tight squeeze before thumbing along the slick, oversensitive head. The prince squirmed in his grip, body still moving with each demanding thrust but entirely at his mercy as Shiro wrung out each shock of pleasure so bright they rang like pain through Keith’s body. He slowed, enjoying how Keith fucked into his fist, eyes squeezed closed as he chased after the feeling.

“Shiro!”

The way Keith called for him, voice cracked and rough as stone, pulled an answering growl from Shiro’s chest. He bent to kiss him, earning a sharp bite as Keith laughed breathlessly all too ready for the challenge. The legs around his waist tightened and the world rolled sideways as Keith flipped them, then Shiro was on his back. A hand wound itself through his damp hair and gave a tug as Keith settled in his lap, chest heaving with each gasp of heavy, summer air.

“Looks like I’m setting the pace now.” He fed the words through Shiro’s lips. “Try to keep up.”

“You’re such an, ah-!” The retort died as Keith moved, riding him like a stallion. Shiro wrapped his hands around Keith’s hips, hot sticky skin slapping with each quick, deep thrust as he moved to meet him. Keith arched, head flung back and hands twisted into the bedding to brace himself.

Gods, he was beautiful. All sinewy muscle and imposing strength. A fighter’s grace was not so different from a dancer’s, and with him writhing in Shiro’s lap, his belly tensed and flexing with each thrust, Shiro couldn’t look away. Keith’s legs were spread, a purveyor of the most obscene goods, and Shiro watched himself disappear into the tight heat of his lover’s body with dark eyes.

He reached up, mapping Keith’s torso with his hands. A flush spread across his skin, from his throat and shoulders and down to his heaving chest. Shiro followed it with his fingers, tracing over Keith’s ribs like he was counting them one by one, and stretching towards his sternum, then higher still. He teased the fleck of Keith’s nipple, dragging his thumb across it until it pebbled beneath his touch, and Keith hissed when it was pinched, squirming so hard he clenched around Shiro’s shaft, and Shiro could have laughed if Keith wasn’t doing it again and again. White, hot pleasure shot through him, and his toes dug into their sheets.

“Yeah,” Keith demanded, his voice a rumbling purr. “Yeah, inside me, come on, Shiro. I want it. Come on, Shiro make it good.”

It was like all Keith had to do was ask. Shiro came apart with a guttural groan. He could feel it all the way down to his belly, rumbling alongside the sharp bite of his orgasm. Keith ground into him, his head hanging low, mouth bitten white beneath his teeth as he took and took.

Shiro wasn’t sure how long it lasted, seconds spread towards eternity, but he was already pulling Keith closer. The prince whined at the loss, hissing his protest, until his thighs were spread over Shiro’s face, and Shiro craned his neck and licked him clean.

It only took one touch of his tongue for Keith to shatter. He shuddered, coming with a choked mewl across his belly and splattered down on Shiro’s face. It was all he could do to breathe as Shiro caught a drop and swallowed it down. They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, bed ruined, and panting as they sprawled bonelessly. A lazy breeze finally found it’s way through to the window, caressing too-hot skin and Shiro shivered.

This was love then. Exhausted and aching sweetly with the lingering glow of satisfaction. The ability to find such pleasure and to share it with Keith. Shiro closed his eyes and held on to the feeling of peace and satisfaction as Keith flopped gracelessly on top of him.

“It’s too hot.” Shiro complained as Keith ignored him completely and made himself at home on Shiro’s chest. Shiro accepted it, too lazy to do much else.

“We still have to train.” He said with a yawn, though they both knew they were just empty words. They’d make it down eventually. Maybe. The days were better passed in bed, free from responsibility and pants. Pants especially. Shiro absentmindedly rubbed a hand across an ache in his chest, stretching out the muscles until it went away.

“Or we could just stay here for the entire rest of the afternoon?” Shiro offered without opening his eyes. “Not sure I could move anyways.”

“If we’re going to stay here all afternoon, you’ll have to move again eventually. I’ll get my swordplay one way or the other.”

That made Shiro crack open one eye and steal a kiss from Keith’s mischievous lips. “Best I beat you here than in the dusty training grounds. Wonder if your tournament gives awards for this kind of sport, I think I’m pretty good at it.”

“Shiro!”

Shiro laughed, and Keith moved to hush him. He started peppering kisses across his partner’s face, feather light and teasing, cleaning him with little kitten licks. Then they were kissing, slow and lazy, moving into one another’s space with languid ease. Shiro let Keith slip between his thighs, and he didn’t think anything could be more perfect.

“I should though,” Keith said after a moment. “Go, I mean.”

Shiro huffed, nuzzling into his shoulder. “If you must.”

He nipped at Keith’s shoulder to show his displeasure. The prince made no move. Shiro nipped him again, until he turned to face him and snuggled aggressively into his side. “You going to come watch?”

“Of course. If I ever decide to get up again.” Shiro teased, though right now it felt closer to the truth than anything. Laying here among the pillows seemed like the perfect way to spend the rest of his life. Keith tutted disapprovingly and he dropped a kiss to the prince’s forehead.

“C’mon, the tournament is tomorrow. I need to get as much practice in as possible.”

“You’re good, Keith. You’ve trained as hard as anyone, there’s nothing more you can do. Plus, you don’t want to get hurt right before your big competition.”

Keith huffed but wiggled back down next to Shiro as planned. “I just want to be ready.”

“You’re ready. You can do this.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to get up.”

“Maybe.” Shiro laughed. “But it’s the truth, too. You can do this, baby. Not to prove anything to them, but because of  _you_. And I’ll be there to cheer you on the entire time.”

Keith snorted, but he was smiling, and when Shiro leaned in for another kiss, he welcomed it. Shiro ran a hand through Keith’s hair, letting his fingers graze the mark high on his brow. He couldn’t even see the place the wound had been anymore. Considering the circumstances, he saw it as a rather fond memory.

The silence stretched on between them, comfortable and easy, as the sun crept lower across the horizon. Shiro was halfway to sleep, a satisfied drowsiness settling over his bones, but he was smug because he was certain Keith wouldn’t be going anywhere. Then the prince spoke up.

“Give me a favor to wear then.” Keith dared, and Shiro could feel his smile against his skin. “If you’re going to go through so much effort, I might as well carry that with me.”

Shiro’s brow furrowed. “I’m not familiar with that. What favor?”

“A favor,” Keith repeated, exhaling noisily. When Shiro glanced down, his cheeks had pinked. “A token. Something that a knight carries into battle when… when they want to show they’re fighting for someone.”

“You want to fight for me?” Shiro seemed surprised.

“I want to fight for something more important than just proving I’m the best. You said this is how I can give back to my kingdom even if I’m not like my brother, and I want to be more. Why not fight for you instead?” Keith wasn’t good at making speeches or confessing his feelings, but it all felt so easy with Shiro beside him. There was no need for fear or judgement here and Shiro quietly thought.

“I’ll find something and bring it to you tomorrow.” He promised. 

“And I’ll wear it so everyone can see.” Keith seemed genuinely pleased. “For you.”

Shiro sent a silent prayer of thanks to Coran and let himself drift off with Keith in his arms.

 

* * *

 

The tournament was larger than Shiro expected. The entire town had arrived, setting up booths and carts selling different foods or wares. The castle grounds had been transformed into a festival with musicians and dancers playing every few feet, and people laughing as they excited talked about the upcoming events. Every time he heard Keith’s name mentioned, a spark of pride shot through him.

Possibly even when it wasn’t warranted.

The jousting competitions happened in the morning, and the afternoon would be reserved for melee battles. Shiro was getting his fill of sweet bread when he heard his name.

Keith jogged up to him in a huff, his chainmail already in place, a helmet tucked under his arm. “There you are, I thought you’d’ve forgotten about it.” He said in an airy tone that belied the intensity of his stare.

It was wrong to feel as pleased about Keith’s concern as he did, but Shiro couldn’t stop himself completely. “Never. I was just scoping out the competition. It’s going to be embarrassing when you beat them all.”

Keith grinned, but something about him had settled, like he’d humbled the energy that burned through his veins. It was not tamed, but it fell in line at his service. Shiro may have spoken in jest, but he’d meant every word. Clearing his throat, he held out a purple flower, its graceful petals stained darker at their core, and edges a lighter lilac. Saffron.

Once upon a time, he’d spent a peaceful spring falling in love while Keith wove these flowers into his hair. For a moment, he hoped for the impossible. That the sight would spark some kind of lost memory and Keith would finally know him, not just as he was now, but as they’d been before. Friends that had transcended lifetimes and souls who found each other again after so long. 

There wasn’t any recognition in Keith’s eyes as he carefully pinned the flower into place, but Shiro was satisfied.

“Your highness!” A voice called out and Keith turned, waving at one of the armored soldiers ready for the competition. “Hope you’re ready to compete, we haven’t had a chance to train recently. I’ve missed battling your sword.”

The words were innocent, but there was something slick to the soldier’s grin, and Shiro felt himself scowl. That ugly, twisting jealousy was back in the pit of his stomach as Keith moved to speak with his former sparring partner, oblivious to the innuendos.

“If you think I’ll go easy on you because you’ve been slacking, you’ve got another thing coming,” Keith threw back with an easy familiarity that had the soldier laughing a touch too loud.

“We’ll see about that. I’m always good on my word.”

His smile faltered as Shiro took a step closer, a question settling in the furrow of his brows as Shiro slung an arm around the prince’s waist, pulling Keith against him without shame or hesitation. Keith tensed, but only for a moment, before he leaned against Shiro, looking up at him with a dark gleam in his eyes, the corners of his mouth quirked.

“I think they’re calling for competitors, Keith.”

“I better go get ready.”

“I suppose so.” Shiro leaned down to press a kiss and all of his luck against Keith’s neck, willing everyone to see. This was his prince, his soulmate. If love was a challenge, he’d won. “Don’t forget, fight for something important.”

“I won’t forget.” Keith pulled away with a grin and donned his helmet, giving Shiro a salute before hurrying off towards the other contestants. Neither of them noticed when the soldier took his leave.

Pride welled within Shiro. They were all skilled, but Keith would finally win his recognition today. All of his fears and inadequacies when compared to his brother would be set aside and people would finally see Keith’s worth the way Shiro always had. He settled in the stands by the rest of the royal court where Lotor presided over the events, calling the games to begin.

When he noticed Shiro in the crowd, Lotor waved him over.

“He’s doing really well out there.” Shiro said excitedly, as the games progressed. Keith’s drive and ruthlessness set him apart from the very beginning.

“Of that there was never any doubt.”

And for hours, warriors clashed. Knights raced towards each other with javelins drawn, the fallen switching to swords as they made their last stand. The crowd roared their approval whenever a victor was announced, and there was Keith, flower still hidden within his armor, fighting to prove himself a real prince of his people.

One by one, the competitors whittled away into nothing, until there was no one left standing in the arena save for Keith and two unknown fighters. They both towered over him, bloodied swords and dented shields at the ready, a man with ink across his shaved skull, and another with thick black braids, but even from the stands, Shiro could see Keith’s grin. The crowd was in a frenzy, stomping their feet and raising their voices as swords clashed and metal screamed. Alliances and betrayals rose and fell on the breeze, each fighter looking for a weakness they could exploit, until Keith made a daring play and skid across the dirt, knocking one opponent off his feet and throwing his weight against the other.

When the dust settled, only the prince was left standing, and the crowd roared.

Shiro rushed down the stands, too eager to congratulate his friend. The fighters were being lead to a podium in the center of the arena, and Prince Lotor moved into place to greet them.

It happened all so quickly. There was a glimmer of light from the rafters, a shift of shadows. Suddenly a blur passed through the blue sky, and the man with the shaved head threw something into the air. The timing was perfect. In the middle of its trajectory, an arrow caught fire, and flew straight at Lotor.

Only luck saved the prince. The arrow buried itself in the wood of his chair on the dais overlooking the jousting ground only inches from his head. There was a moment of confused silence and shock before anyone could move. Then the screaming started.

Men rose up out of the crowd at the signal, drawing hidden weapons and cutting people down as they fell over each other to escape. Panic and chaos followed as the visiting townsfolk fled and Lotor’s knights scrambled to assemble. They were cut down in the ambush one by one, too scattered over the tournament grounds to mount any kind of coordinated resistance.

“To arms!” Lotor yelled, attempting to rally his people as he flung off his cloak and drew his own weapon. He spun with grace, deflecting the blows of two attackers before cutting them down and pushing his way through the ground. “Knights, to me!” He fought to control the battle, drawing as many of his fragmented forces to him as he could to stop the rebel’s uprising, but Shiro was already running.

“Keith!”

Keith cut a swath through the oncoming fighters, still running high on the adrenaline of battle. Shiro took off, fighting through the crowds, but it was as if the stampede was only carrying him away. Foes pressed on from every side, and the prince wasn’t the only one with Lotor in mind. Keith caught a glimpse of a fast-moving target, slipping through the crowd at a full run. Lotor’s honor guard was distracted or worst, the entire field lost in a rumble of chaos, but the assassin only had one chance and he’d made his mark.

The arrow flew.

Keith threw himself in front of his brother as an arrow lodged itself in his chest with a hollow thud. He staggered, too shocked to feel the pain as his brother’s voice rang in his ears, bloody sword raised. “Get back!” Keith yelled with the last of his breath. “You need to get out of here!”

Shiro grabbed him, pulling him down and sheltering Keith from the fray with his body. The prince fought against him as Shiro begged, pleaded with him to stay. He made whatever threats and promises he thought might work, wiping the pink, bloody foam from Keith’s lips. “Don’t move. I’ve got you. I’ll get you out of this, you’ll be okay.” He murmured, word jumbled together and lost in the roar. Keith only looked at him with wide eyes, confused and afraid.

“Shiro.”

“I’ve got you. I’ll get you back to the castle!”

“I can’t. Lotor-, I have to help him.”

“He’ll be fine. Please Keith, let me save you. Please.” Shiro begged, but Keith never let fear stop him before. He broke the shaft of the arrow with a wince and pushed himself from Shiro, wobbling on his feet as he tried to regain his bearings in the chaos. An easy target. Shiro flung his arm up to deflect a blade, the metal biting deep against the bone as he kept the blow from striking Keith. Warm blood sprayed across his face as Shiro screamed, but refused to move as he held the attacker at bay with nothing more than his body as a weapon. The rebel gave a shocked gurgle as Keith howled and plunged his dagger into the man’s chest, kicking him off.

“Fall back, I’ll give you time to get out of here.” Keith ordered, rage pulsing in his empty chest and keeping him up on his feet when anyone else would have fallen.

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You said I had to fight for others, Shiro.” Bloody fingers touched the side of Shiro’s face and Keith’s pain pulled into a small smile. “You were right. If I can keep them safe, I have to try.”

“But I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you.”

He pulled himself free from Shiro’s embrace before Shiro could stop him. Wounded and bleeding, nothing stopped the prince as he threw himself at the rebels to buy Lotor and their people at least one moment more to escape. He cut down an enemy, but there was another to take his place, snarling in fury. Shiro screamed as another set of arrows came firing down. For every shot he took, Keith brought another man to the ground, his armor splattered with crimson and arms shaking. And each moment, each enemy cut down meant one more of Keith’s people used his sacrifice to escape.

The last arrow caught him through the throat.

He was falling before Shiro could reach him. Shiro watched him with wide eyes, his entire body shuddering as his pulse thudded in his chest. It grew louder and louder, until it drowned out all sounds of battle. “Keith!” Shiro screamed, but his words wouldn’t come, his skin suddenly too tight.

The last thing he saw was smoke rising through the air, then there was darkness. And crashing stone.

 


	3. Rock My World

Thoughts moved slowly in stone, winding through cruel centuries. It wore marble to dust, and sent cracks spider-webbing through carved flesh and curling around his face. Pieces of him were left behind as he was lost and found, dragged from empires and forgotten back rooms. 

Without a heart, time didn’t matter. Nothing did.

 _You can’t stay like this_.

_Why not? I’ve tried, I’ve failed him. No matter what I do, I can’t keep him._

Words reverberated through the stone, sound without sound.  _Was that what you asked for?_

_I asked for love, but I didn’t know it was going to be so hard. How can I love him and get him to love me if I can’t keep him?_

_If you don’t try, you will never know._

_But how much more can I ask of us both?_

There was no answer, but the world started shift, and he relearned the meaning of light. The air was stale and still. Little breaths of dust interrupted the sunshine that cut through gauzy curtains beyond a palette of red and orange leaves, just enough to illuminate a room filled with once valuable treasures. It was alien and unknown, and a gasp caught in Shiro’s throat before it all came crashing down.

Shiro’s knees buckled under his weight. He reached out to catch himself, but it wasn’t enough. His left buckled under the weight of him. He landed heavily on his side, eyes widening in shock and alarm, and he knew, but he didn’t want to accept. He saw, but refused to understand. There was nothing left to hurt, but the absence was sharp enough to cut, and Shiro cried out. He’d left his arm on the battlefield, a testament to a prince he couldn’t save.

His eyes watered and lips quivered, and Shiro didn’t know how to make any of it stop. He didn’t know how to get back up, didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it. Bile burned in the back of his throat, and tears gathered at his eyes. Nothing could make it stop. There were footsteps in the distance, then a sharp cry of alarm.

The moments that followed slipped out of Shiro’s mind, lost in a wave of confusion and shame, and when time slipped sideways, Shiro let it run.

Being born always hurt.

He woke when warm light spilled over his face, Springs creaked beneath him when he moved, the bed harder than he remembered. His prince had lived in velvet and soft down. This bed was narrow and the sheets thin. When Shiro finally managed to open his eyes, he found himself blinking at bare off-white walls in a small, sparse bedroom. A figure moved beside him, dressed in a long white jacket, a pocket watch dangling from his pocket and brows furrowed in worry.

“Just lie still, don’t try to move yet.” 

Shiro would have recognized the voice anywhere, it echoed through him like a string plucked tight. Every beat of his heart called out, fear and hope and want tied so tight that Shiro didn’t have a name for a feeling.

“Keith?”

“It’s Doctor Kogane, but close enough.” Keith said slowly, looking over a notebook and jotting down a few notes. “You were found on the property, is that right?” Whatever he saw on Shiro’s face softened his expression, replaced his frown with something kinder. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands now. This is a safe place and you will have the time you need to heal.”

“You can fix it?” Shiro asked, still groggy, but hope was a potent thing. Its hooks had gone deep. If there was anyone who could, it would be his sculptor.

Keith lowered his book, but didn’t answer immediately. Shiro understood too much, but refused to see any of it. “We’ll do what we can.” He moved to offer Shiro a glass of water. “What do you remember?”

Shiro tried to see the calloused hands of an expert sword fighter, but these were unfamiliar. A new Keith, one who remembered nothing, and he wanted to smile at the man’s question. Tears prickled behind his eyes and clung stubbornly to his lashes. He tried to wipe them away before he realized that the sensation he felt was attached to a hand that was no longer there.

Keith’s frown twisted, but he murmured an apology. “No, let me…”

The drink was pressed to Shiro’s lips, water cool against his parched throat, and when he wiped the tears from his cheeks, he could pretend his heart was no longer howling.

“Thank you,” he said, but the silence that followed lingered long enough to gain weight.

“Do you remember your name?” Keith probed gently.

 _I remember yours._  Shiro bit back the words, unsure if he should start with the truth. His sculptor had known exactly what he was, able to trace every line he’d carved into Shiro’s body, but his prince had never known at all. A statue come to life, a blessing by an ancient god of love to find his other half. It had made sense, once upon a time. Not so much now, under Keith’s clinical gaze.

“Shiro.” He whispered, hoping that this time, maybe this time it would be different.  _You know me_. Shiro pleaded. _You made me. Please remember who I am and that I love you? Please, Keith_.

There was nothing, just the sound of a pen scratching as Keith wrote down notes.

“Do you remember how you got here? Or what you were doing?”

Shiro remembered all of it and wished he didn’t. Keith took his silence for something else. He straightened, and smiled through what he saw as distress, to pull Shiro through it.

“Well, Shiro. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands here. We have many trained doctors to help and we’re far away from the stress of your old life. We specialize in working with veterans, you’ll find we have other guests that share your background if that makes you more comfortable.” 

 _Veteran?_  Shiro looked at the stump of his arms and the cracked scars across his body. He’d slept through wars before, passed from one side to the next, but this was a good enough explanation as any. “You’re going to let me stay with you?”

“Yes, of course.” In this world, Keith’s smile was kind. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

This time Shiro had to smile. If he didn’t, he was sure he would fall apart.

“It feels like a thousand years have passed.” Shiro’s heart twisted unhappily. He didn’t even have to lie. “I don’t remember much of anything. It’s all - nothing. Darkness. I don’t remember how this happened, or how I got here.” His breath hitched, voice breaking around words that still didn’t feel like Shiro could speak it properly. “I don’t know why it keeps happening.”

Keith reopened his book for more notes. “Memory loss is common for people who’ve suffered through trauma, it’s not surprising. Being able to rest and heal in a safe, quiet place may help unlock some of those memories again. Do you remember anything else?”

 _Everything about you_. Shiro bit his tongue to keep from saying the words or grabbing Keith by the shoulders to demand why  _he_ couldn’t remember all the time they’d spent together. Instead Shiro just hung his head, feeling as heavy as the stone he’d been carved from. “There was a battle.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

No answer was forthcoming. With a soft “ah,” Keith put a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “I know that it’s hard, but I promise you that you’re safe here. The staff are here to help and provide for you, the gardens and the mineral springs will help restore you to health in no time, and I will be here to make sure you’re on your way to recovery. All you will have to do is trust me. Can you do that, Shiro?”

“Of course.” Shiro said, willing Keith to know all the secrets he didn’t share. “I always trust you.”

Keith frowned, but not for long. “Good. Now get some rest for now and after dinner, we’ll have a short tour of the estate. If there’s anything that you need, please let the housekeeper know and she’ll make sure to provide it right away.”

“Where are you going?” There was an edge to Shiro’s tone that he couldn’t keep back, and the careful hesitation in Keith’s stare meant he’d noticed it as well. Shiro didn’t know how to apologize for it. He couldn’t go back to being strangers when the memory of the warmth of Keith’s skin still clung to him, and if he closed his eyes, he could remember further, to the dead weight of an unmoving body and a silent heart.

Only when Keith took his hand, did Shiro realize he’d extended it. His pulse was racing, and it beat fastest beneath Keith’s finger tips. They bore calluses of a different kind, and when Shiro noticed, he forgot how to breathe.

“It’s alright, Shiro. You’re not going to be alone.” He looked into Shiro’s eyes, but the way he turned away made Shiro feel like he’d let him down some way. Keith still smiled for him. “I’ll just be down the hall.”

It was easier to pull away afterwards. 

Keith’s footsteps were the soundtrack to his dreams, and Shiro chased them for a long time.

 

* * *

 

The barriers between wakefulness and rest blurred. It was difficult to keep track of time, and Shiro had to force himself out of bed on most days, or he would never see the sun. 

The house was strange, built on wood and plaster that seemed flimsy in comparison to the hard stone of the palace, but so much more elaborate than the shack he shared with his sculptor. They called it a  _sanitarium_ , and Shiro didn’t know what it meant, but it slipped together with  _hospital_. The broken pieces of the world had managed to find their way to the same place, and Shiro didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse.

He saw Keith every day. It was simultaneously too much and not enough. Keith was always patient, always kind. There was just enough of him to make Shiro’s memories burn, but not enough to keep him warm. 

At least this place was beautiful. The gardens had quickly become Shiro’s favorite place, with its wrought iron benches and rustic gazebos dotting browning fields. Thick hedges and large trees had been planted for security, and when Shiro stood in the center of it all, he felt like he was part of a painting. 

“Uh. Excuse me. Are you in my way or am I in yours?”

There was a tap of a cane on the stone path, and Shiro turned to find a stranger with dark hair that curled gently around his ears. While his posture was striking for he was almost as tall, if not taller than Shiro, it was the white bandages around his eyes that caused Shiro alarm. 

“I, uh. Sorry. I think I’m the one in the way.” Shiro stammered, earning a bright smile from the young man.

“No worries. Just looking for the bench out there, help me find it?” He held out his hand and Shiro grasped it, guiding him over to a little wooden bench. The man plopped down with a sigh, stretching out and gesturing for Shiro to join him. “You’re welcome to stay, I won’t bite. I just had lunch anyways.” He teased. “I’m Hunk.”

“Shiro.”

“Nice to meet you, Shiro. Guess you’re new, huh.”

“Yeah. I, uh, I’ve never really been to a place like this before.”

That earned a laugh and Hunk relaxed back into the bench, letting the bright September sun warm his face. “Not many places like it, we’re kinda lucky. A lot of the boys didn’t have much of a place to go back to after the war and the doc set up this place to take us in. Not sure why he’d do it, if I had all that money, I’d probably live in my mansion being fed a thousand different cakes a day instead of dealing with injured vets and all their problems.”

He was so open that Shiro felt himself smile, a certain sense of pride at Keith’s accomplishments. No matter the lifetime, Keith always did want to help. “The doctor is very kind. Do you know much about him?”

“Doc Keith? Um, not too much. He was Union in the army, I know that much. He converted his family mansion into a hospital and there’s about twelve of us living here now. Plus, the nurses and the staff.” 

“I’ve met a few of them.” Shiro nodded. “Edna and Louis in the mornings, Shay-”  
  
“Oh Shay’s great!” Hunk interrupted, and the flush across his features darkened prettily. He looked down to his feet, kicking at the crunching leaves at their feet, and cleared his throat. “I mean. She’s really sweet. On Sundays she plays the piano in the study. And her cobbler would make a sinner out of a priest, it’s so good.”  
  
Shiro chuckled under his breath, and the afternoon breeze carried it away. “She sounds nice.”   
  
“She is.” Hunk cleared his throat, tapping his cane against the bench leg. “But what about you, friend? What brings you here? Looking’s not really my forte.”

Shiro looked down at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers and feeling the ghost at the end of his right elbow try to mirror the motion. “I don’t know.” He said softly, too honest in the moment. “I’m-, I’m lost.”

“Oh.” Hunk said sympathetically, leaning against Shiro’s side. “I’ve been there a lot. Where you from at least?”

A city long ago where marble columns held up the sky. A castle built in the rolling hills. Not this strange manor house with its flickering gas lamps and the frost that crept across the grass in the morning. Shiro looked out over the low, forest covered mountains beyond the glass-still lake where green leaves had started to yellow around the edges. An alien land far from anything he’d ever known before, from everyone and everything. “I don’t know.” He admitted at last as Hunk sucked in a breath.

“Not even a little? You just wander in off the street?”

“I-I…I don’t know, Hunk. I don’t know why I’m here.” He buried his face in his hand. “And I don’t know how long I’m going to be here.”  
  
Somehow that made it a thousand times worse. It always felt like he was running out of time, running a marathon inside his body that not even his heart could pick up.   
  
Then there was a gentle weight on his knee, and he looked up to find Hunk’s hand. The young man didn’t face him, not directly, but he tried.   
  
“Hey. That’s… That’s awful, no one should have to go through that I’m sorry.” He said, and Shiro didn’t know how to tell him there was nothing either of them could do. He’d trifled with a god. Now there was no one who could even hear the myths.   
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“It’s kinda not? At all.”  
  
Shiro laughed, found that he meant it. “No, it really, really isn’t.”  
  
But Hunk didn’t pull away. Shiro was more grateful than he could say.

 

* * *

 

“And that?”  
  
“Trayling,” Shiro said, looking to the tall man with a severe haircut and a splash of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Trayling had a rook between his fingers and held it like a cigar as he frowned at his chessboard. “Likes his model trains.”  
  
Keith nodded, making a little note on his book. He’d been doing that less and less, and Shiro was pleased. The doctor was curled on the settee, like he was trying to fit himself in the patch of sunlight that shone through the windows, a lingering piece of summer even so late in the year.  
  
“And the man beside him?”  
  
“Slav. Wearing the same look he did yesterday when he thought he’d come out on top.” Shiro grinned. “He didn’t do so well yesterday either.”  
  
Someone was humming. The sweet scent of cardamom wafted through the air. It was too cold to throw the patio doors open, but Shiro wished the garden flowers could join them. As she passed with her tray, Shiro turned and grinned to the lady of the house.   
  
Without waiting for Keith to ask, he said, “Ms. Shay, our esteemed lady. She likes her tea warm, with a cream and three sugars.”  
  
“Did Hunk tell you that?” The doctor asked with a hint of amusement.  
  
“Yeah, me and half the breakfast table.” Shiro laughed. “Again. We had ham and eggs today. Uh. Porridge yesterday.”  
  
Keith nodded, though he’d told Shiro enough times that it was normal to forget smaller details. “Smartest infantry man in the Union, he’d forget which end his head was attached to for a pretty face.”  
  
“Don’t let him hear you say that. Hunk’ll take offense that you only called her pretty.”  
  
They shared a smile. Shiro struggled to keep it when Keith spoke next.  
  
“How did you get here?”

_I was carried._

”I don’t know.” 

”Have you visited Banesse? The town down the way.”

_I never passed through._

Shiro shook his head.  
  
“Where’d you grow up?”  
  
_I didn’t. I was always like this._  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Come on, Shiro. I know it’s hard, but I’m going to need you to at least try to talk to me.” Keith said, taking off the glasses that pinched the edge of his nose and rubbing his eyes. He looked tired, Shiro could see it in his face. World weary and exhausted, but still here, still working when he thought there were people he could save. He pushed himself too hard, but then again, Keith always had.  
  
Shiro wished he could have told him everything.  
  
“I’m sorry, Kei-, Doctor. There’s nothing else.”  
  
“Even if you don’t remember anything, there has to be things you like. What’s your favorite song? Favorite food? What’s something you enjoy doing?” Keith prodded gently, and Shiro had no real answer.  
  
“I learned how to fight. I wasn’t too terrible at it either, after a while.”   
  
Keith gave him a sad smile. “But what about something other than fighting. What do you like, Shiro?”  
  
Shiro lowered his eyes, tried to care more than he did about how the toe of his shoe looked against the scuff marks on the carpet. “There used to be a sculptor. A master of his art. I liked watching him.”  
  
“Do you remember his name?” There was something low and uneven in Keith’s voice. Shiro shook his head.  
  
Keith sighed and got to his feet so quickly, Shiro thought he was going to storm off, but Keith just shook out his arms. “Well. Have you ever danced Shiro?”  
  
“What?” Shiro laughed sure he must’ve heard wrong.

“Dancing? Everyone likes music, right?” Keith asked hopefully. “Maybe there’s a song you remember.”

“I don’t think so.” Shiro said, but Keith was already off gathering the staff together excitedly, so ready to try anything that might help. He whispered into Shay’s ear who laughed and sat down at the piano bench, running her hands over the keys to test the slightly out of tune instrument.

“Oh dear, but it’s not Sunday.” She murmured as Hunk stood and slowly shuffled his way over to her side.

“I always like hearing you play, miss.” He mumbled, earning a bright smile he couldn’t see as Shay’s fingers found the keys with more confidence. 

It was a strange song, bouncy and insistent. Nothing like Shiro had ever heard before. He didn’t know how the machine she used produced the sound, but it filled the whole room and the other patients stopped to nod along or tap their feet. A few even broke out in ragged singing.

“Do you want to try?” Keith was at his side, hand outstretched. “If you don’t remember, I can show you the steps.”

Shiro hesitated, regret writ clear as day across his face. On his right, his sleeve hung empty, the fabric tied off at the end to hide the lack. He had no experience with wounds, and even less with scars, and what had been left behind by the fates seemed like a cruel taunt of the skin he’d been given. “My balance is off,” he said with a smile he didn’t feel, but could fasten all the same. “I’ll fall all over you, and I don’t remember if I’ve ever danced.”

“I’ve dealt with worse than two left feet,” Keith said, matching Shiro’s tone. His hand didn’t lower, but the corners of his smile warmed. If Shiro pushed, he would stop. Shiro wasn’t sure he wanted Keith to stop.

“Aww hell. You’re going to regret that.” A little helplessly, Shiro swallowed his nerves. They were bitter all the way down.

A few of the others had gathered around them, dancing to the jaunty beat, but Keith’s hand slipped into Shiro’s, and his other arm went around his waist. They were close enough that Shiro could feel the warmth of him through his skin, like Keith had manage to keep some of his stolen sunlight. Shiro met his eye, his brow furrowed, and Keith’s grip tightened.

“Is this okay?” It was almost too soft to hear, still an invitation, in a voice that Shiro was so used to issuing challenges. A dull ache settled in the back of his ribs, but when he nodded, he was smiling.

They danced slower than the music, even after Shiro’s steps grew more confident and sure. Keith’s hand around his waist was so warm.

It was almost like sparring, catching Keith’s footwork and mirroring it back though the goals were much different. Shiro thought he preferred this. It was nicer to bring his partner closer than to fight them at arm’s length. He leaned in to breathe in the scent of Keith’s cologne and closed his eyes, letting his feet carry them across the room. It was so easy to anticipate Keith’s movement, he’d studied long enough.

The music faded to the background and Shiro could hear laughter distantly. It all blurred along the edges into soft colors. Only Keith remained sharp, cut out of the noise in brilliant relief. None of the loss mattered in the moment, it was like the lifetimes between them had collapsed down into the present where they were alive and together and happy. Shiro bent, ready to steal a kiss like he’d done so many times before, before he realized the music had stopped.

With a breathy laugh, he pulled away and hoped no one had noticed.

“It’s nice.” He said, trying to sooth the worry that crossed Keith’s face. “The dancing, I mean. It’s nice, I like it.”

“Good! You’re pretty good at it too. Maybe you were a dancer in a past life?”

“Or something.” Shiro finally glanced around the room, but no one seemed to notice his hesitation. Hunk had joined Shay at the piano, leaning in close to murmur in her ear. The others had paired off as someone called out for another song.

Keith was still looking expectantly at him. It was too good to be true, the sweetest sort of torture, another remnant of a time that ended too soon.

Shiro couldn’t bear it.

He made his excuses, barely able to string words together as he ducked out of Keith’s grip. He thought he could feel the doctor’s gaze boring into the back of his head, but he didn’t stop him.

It had been unfairly kind, and all Shiro could think about was how much he’d wished the prince had learned how to dance. Or his sculptor. Shiro hadn’t cared much about music back then, happy with whatever they enjoyed from the marketplace. He’d never tried dancing, and it felt like there were too many ghosts he’d have wanted to share it with.

His feet carried him while his mind was too hazy for thought. He found himself in the quiet kitchen, normally filled with sweet and savory scents at Miss Shay’s command. It was empty now, until a squeak caught Shiro’s attention. Like a house mouse, Shiro caught sight an auburn-haired boy with wide eyes, and his hand in a cookie jar.

Under his breath, Shiro chuckled.

“Are they good?” He whispered, glancing around over exaggeratedly to see if anyone was watching. “I was sneaking in here to get some too, but I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

The boy relaxed only slightly when he realized he wasn’t going to be punished and shoved his cookie in his mouth before shyly nudging the jar towards Shiro. He took one for himself and studied the boy. He was skinny, but well-dressed except for a scuffed knee where he’d obviously fallen. “Do you like them?” Shiro asked and the boy nodded, managing one soft word.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Shiro, do you live here too?”

“Yeah.” Another shy squeak and a nod. “My brother and me live upstairs, we’re not really supposed to be down here.” He said, giving the cookie jar another look. With a grin, Shiro rummaged through one of the drawers for a cloth napkin and started laying cookies across its center.

“If you have a brother, then we can’t eat all of these ourselves. Here’s some for you to take back, I won’t tell. But you might need to help me tie the knot.” Shiro held up the ends of the cloth around the cookie bundle with his one hand.

The boy glanced at his hand but nodded, completely unfazed. Shiro didn’t know if it was because of indifference or compassion, but he was grateful for it anyway.

“Sure, just put your finger here.” He tied a neat little knot, smuggling away a respectable pile of cookies before he looked up at Shiro with a steadier smile. “I’m Henry. Um. Thanks.”

“Henry, I hope those aren’t the cookies I told you not to touch.”

Henry’s eyes went wide, and his eyes darted like he was looking for somewhere to hide. When Shay strode in the room, Shiro hunched his shoulders, doing his best to look contrite, but he could feel a grin trying to break across his face.

“Of course not, Miss Shay. Those are mine.” Shiro intervened smoothly. “I was just asking Henry to put them in my room.”

She looked at him and sighed so loudly, he could feel it in  _his_ ribs, but Henry was nodding, his bangs falling all over his brow. Skinny little thing. Shiro was sure he could pick him up and throw him across the room.

“You shouldn’t be spoiling your appetite either, Shiro.”

“Don’t worry, I think we’ve both got enough appetite to spare, right?” Shiro gave the boy a wink and Henry gave an obvious wink back.

“Right, sir!”

“Why don’t you go run along and take care of those cookies for me.” He said and Henry flashed him a gap-toothed smile before taking the cue to bolt. Shiro couldn’t help but laugh and even Shay was smiling, though she tried to cover it with a chastising scowl.

“If he doesn’t eat his dinner tonight, I’ll know who to blame.”

Shiro just shrugged, completely unrepentant. “He yours?”

“As good as. He and his brother are always underfoot, though they know better than to bother the patients. If you need me to take care of them, just let me know and I’ll shoo them outdoors to play.” Shay looked down the hall where Henry had disappeared as fondness crept into her voice. No matter how she pretended to disapprove, her love for the boys was evident. “They’re the only children here, so I imagine it’s a little lonely for them.”

“They don’t have any other family?”

Shay shook her head a little and started cleaning up the cookie crumbs from the counter. “They do, but it matters very little these days. They lost a lot in the war, but we’re all part of the same little family aren’t we? Things are still rough out there, but at least here we can focus on peace and healing.”

“We’re lucky to have this.” Shiro said, and refused to think about how long it would last. There was no place for that today. “I’ll get out of your hair before the cooking starts. Hunk will be around soon, and you know what they say about too many chefs.”  
  
Shay laughed, and tucked a dark curl behind her ear. Shiro thought he could see her blush. He nodded his thanks, excusing himself with a quiet laugh. It was good someone could find happiness. He wondered where Coran was now, wondered if his absence was blessing or curse.

But days turned to quiet nights that were anything but quiet inside his head. The lantern lights cast strange shadows on the patterned wallpaper, reenacting ancient memories. When he dreamed, Shiro saw vicious battles and cheering crowds, but he could never decide if he was spectator or foe. The frantic rushing of hooves. The noon sun on in the middle of a star lit sky. He woke shaking in a cold sweat, his ragged breathing deafening against the still silence of the rest of the house.

Most nights he lay there until his heart stopped racing or exhaustion reclaimed him. Then one night, he didn’t.

He left his room, embracing the deep chill in the evening air that seemed to settle some lost part of him stretched over centuries. It wasn’t easy to know which part of him existed here and now, too much was made up of ancient memories. Shiro drifted out to the estate’s grounds, the grass underfoot crunching slightly from the frost, and just let himself breathe.

The darkness had stolen the russet colors from the forests, turning bright reds and golds to inky black, but the stars still shone bright. They were the same at least, even here on the other side of the world. He could still pick out the shapes Keith had taught him, silently reciting the stories of gods and heroes and monsters that went along with them. 

**“How do I keep him?” Shiro whispered to the sky.**

**A soft rustle answered as the wind gently blew through the ivy curled around an old, worn stature of a mustachioed baby with a serene smile. Shiro had to laugh, his breath visible in the cold air.**

**“I don’t suppose you have any advice this time?” He asked. “I’ve fought for him, I tried to posses him, and those were both wrong. How do I love him if I can’t keep him? I don’t know what to do... He’s the only thing that matters.”**

 He could have sworn the shadows shifted across the little cupid’s face, but Coran stayed silent. Yet **, its heart-shaped arrow pointed back towards the house and one single flickering spot of lantern light in a room on the second floor.**

**Shiro let out a huff. It felt like relief.**

He walked through the silent home, a stranger in a mirrored world, where everything was opposite to its counterparts of the morning. Here, Keith was the only source of light that mattered. 

Shiro found him in his study, the door left open just far enough that the doctor’s silhouette was cast across his hall. Hunched over his desk, a pile of papers spread before him, he poured over lines and lines of messy scribbles as the oil lamp dusted his cheeks with flickering gold.

Shiro knocked. It was worth it to watch the doctor jerk.

“Aren’t you the one always prescribing a good night’s rest?”

Keith laughed. “Do as I say, not as I do.” Then he nodded his head, gesturing at the empty seat in front of him and got to his feet. “Is something wrong?”

“No, just getting a little air and I saw your light on. Do you ever sleep?”

The doctor smiled, weary but genuine and Shiro was struck by how much older he seemed. The age wasn’t etched into his features, still a young man in his prime, but into the weight he carried on his shoulders and the exhaustion in his eyes. “It’s a difficult time, there’s always so much work to do.”

“And you’re busy saving everyone else.”

“It’s worth it to try.” Keith shook his head. “We lost too many people in the war, I saw too many people die that I couldn’t save. I lost too many.” His voice caught, grief personal and still raw. Shiro recognized the pain, a sharp twist of the knife in the chest that caught every time the memories rose. It was still too deep to heal, no matter how Keith tried to cover the wound, Shiro carried its mirror image.

“I’m sorry. I only remember a little bit about the fighting, but I remember losing. It’s…it’s never easy.”

“No, it’s not. Keeping busy helps though.” Keith gave him a weak smile. “If I could finish her work and help all the people she wanted to help, then I’d at least do her memory justice. It just never feels like enough.”

Keith crossed the room, fidgeting with his hands like he was trying to figure out what to do with them before he plucked a decanter off a tray and poured out two glasses of amber liquid. Shiro took his with a murmur of thanks, and instead of retreating behind his desk, Keith took the chair beside him, sinking into the soft cushion with a breathy sigh. Shiro thought he could watch him for the rest of his life and never get bored.

The drink burned on the way down. “There might be… There’s no real substitute to them, to having them, but you do good work here.” He said. “I don’t think it’s just me. I don’t think there’s anyone who’d disagree. It matters to us. And if you figure out the secret to moving on, do you think you could tell me?”

“I’m working on it. Maybe I can bottle it.” Keith murmured. “Do you remember them?”

Shiro smiled and didn’t answer, but he suspected that if he told Keith he remembered more than he let on, Keith would not be entirely surprised.

“You’re always the one asking me about myself and the things I like, what if I asked you? When was the last time anyone asked?” Shiro inched closer, leaning forward almost like he would put a hand on Keith’s knee. He startled a laugh from the doctor, just as he’d hoped. 

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be looking out for you.”

“Maybe we could look out for each other?” Shiro offered, plunging ahead as he watched the doctor open his mouth to disagree. “C’mon, Keith. Everything I used to be before I got here doesn’t matter. This is where I’m real and alive, and it’s because of you.”

“You know that’s not true.” Keith was the one who reached out first and Shiro shivered at the touch of warm fingers against his skin. “You’re more than that and we’ll find it together.”

He was wrong, but there was no use arguing. Shiro couldn’t explain that his borrowed heart only beat when Keith was near or that life meant nothing unless Keith set him free from stone. What he was didn’t matter, he was shaped by Keith, for him. He was blessed by Coran to find a way to love Keith and keep him safe, even though he failed over and over. This was his purpose.

But Keith was alive in ways Shiro could never understand. He was real, beautiful. Nothing else mattered. “So, let me worry about you too. That’s what friends do, right?”

“I guess.” Keith was reluctant to accept such a gift, as shy as the sculptor’s first brush with love. 

Shiro wondered if he could ever stop missing him. He smiled because he didn’t think so. “So. What’s your favorite food? Your favorite song?”

He got Keith to laugh again and called it good. The doctor swirled the drink at the bottom of his cup, seemed to take a moment to collect himself before taking a drink. “Don’t know much about music, but I like whatever gets you on your feet.” He teased, and Shiro shrugged, decided he could live with it. “And… Miss Shay’s Cottage pie. She makes some of the most amazing you’ll ever taste. It’ll change your life.”

“High praise.” Shiro nodded. “Next time you and I should share a slice. Maybe I’ll finally get to see you when you’re not working.”

“I’m not working now,” Keith protested, with mock outrage, but a warm flush had colored his cheeks. Whether it was a trick of the light or liquid courage, Shiro didn’t know, but it was a good look on him.

“Not for a lack of trying.”

Keith tutted at him, but he hid a smile at the rim of his glass.

“You know, maybe I should stay to make sure you actually make it to bed tonight. I’m sure Miss Shay would appreciate it.” Shiro teased.

“I have no doubt. That woman would carry me to my room if she could. She can be rather formidable.”

“No wonder Hunk is so smitten. While she’s busy, I’m happy to fill in.”

Keith was smiling, Shiro swore he was, perking up a bit even at the hint of a challenge. He settled more firmly into his seat as if defying Shiro’s warning, though Shiro hoped more it was just that Keith didn’t want to leave quite yet. They shared another drink and quiet laughter as the lantern light burned low, and for the first time since he’d woken in this strange place, Shiro felt almost at peace.

 

* * *

 

The leaves continued to change, green melting to a riot of colors that turned the trees to flame on the low mountains around their private lake. It was breathtaking and beautiful, and all so new. The colder it was outside, the warmer the manor house became. Shiro took the time to meet the other patients, all quiet young men injured in whatever terrible war had befallen on this land, and grateful for a new home that helped them heal. He helped the staff, sitting with Shay as Hunk directed the kitchens in a whirlwind to experiment on new meals they were all too glad to taste-test. He smuggled sweets out to Henry and his younger brother Asher, earning wicked grins as they raced off for their adventures of catching the manor cat or looking for real golden leaves. The whole house treated them like family, and it was a feeling that Shiro carried between his ribs.

The gardens were still his favorite. Even with the sky a dull grey overhead, they reminded him of a sunrise, and sometimes, he convinced Keith to pester him there. Pester he said, because there was no better way to describe the doctor’s continuous but gentle probing into a past Shiro didn’t have.

He tried telling the truth. One time he looked Keith straight in the eye and told him Cupid gave him flesh, and he’d watched the love of his life die in his arms twice. Keith looked so confused, it could only have ended in laughter.

They were in the garden now, with Keith’s notebook once more on his knees, but right beside it was a little napkin of toasted teacakes. They traded a flask of ginger beer back and forth, and every time Shiro managed to distract Keith from his questioning, they both took a double sip.

“Okay! Okay. What about your father’s name?” Keith said, trying to smother a laugh, only slightly annoyed at being distracted.

“I didn’t have a father.”

Keith’s expression immediately fell, and Shiro laughed shamelessly. The sky overhead rumbled with him. “I mean, I mean, I don’t remember having one.”

Shiro lied, but it was for the good of both of them. Keith was still frowning as he looked away, eyes going to the heavens.

The clouds had swallowed the sun, shadows gathering around the garden with ominous darkness. The wind picked up and whipped the edges of Keith’s suit jacket. “Looks like a storm’s coming. We should call it a day and head back.” Keith said, slipping his notebook into his pocket.

The leaves overhead rustled and Shiro took a deep breath, letting the chill fill his lungs. It prickled with some kind of energy humming right below the surface, everything gathering and building, ready to come apart at any moment. A single drop of water caught him on the cheek and Shiro blinked in surprise, reaching for it with an arm that wasn’t there and fumbling when he realized it was gone again.

So strange that he kept forgetting. Most of the time, the loss was so obvious. It was hard to overlook the fact he wasn’t complete anymore or that everything he did required more time and more care, struggling through things that had once been easy. It built frustration like the storm. Once upon a time, he’d been perfect, made in the idealized vision from a master craftsman and now he was cracked and broken. As often as his thoughts brought him back here, it was worse when they didn’t. When he was able, just for a moment, to forget that he was falling apart, and it was only when he failed at something so simple that it all came crashing back.

Thunder rumbled deep in the clouds and another few drops spattered the grass.

Keith was shoving their lunch into his satchel, crumbs spilling out of a badly folded napkin, the cap on their bottle twisted on crookedly. “If we hurry we can beat the rain.”  
  
A resounding boom shattered across the sky. Shiro grinned.  
  
“Crap.”  
  
The sky opened up and drenched them in a downpour, but Shiro was laughing, helpless and fond as Keith shoved everything under his armpit and took off running. They raced through the mud, Keith valiantly raising his jacket to try and shield them from the worst of it, but it was a lost cause. Shiro was too tall, and Keith was carrying too many things, and maybe Shiro was intentionally running in the opposite direction, but by the time they burst into the mudroom of the house, they were laughing and breathless and soaked to the skin.  
  
“I think this round goes to the rain,” Shiro teased, and Keith growled, kicking off loafers nearly unrecognizable with mud. Shiro tried to do the same, struggling with his balance at first, but then there were hands around his waist, and Keith was a breath away.  
  
“Come on,” he said, and Shiro’s poor shoes fell with a wet plop that left them both laughing. “And these-”  
  
He tugged on Shiro’s waistcoat, and suddenly Shiro couldn’t make a sound. He shivered, but not with a chill, as Keith’s hands flattened over his belly, the tips of his fingers slipping beneath damp cotton. He undid each button one by one, and Shiro could taste everything passing second.

“You’re going to scandalize Shay at this rate.” 

“Wouldn’t want that.” Keith sounded almost serious, pulling away slightly, and their eyes met. Keith’s hair was plastered to his head, his fingers still curled in Shiro’s shirt, but his eyes were swallowed with such darkness that Shiro couldn’t speak. 

“Shiro...”

Shiro never gave him a chance. He drew him into a kiss. Keith froze in his arms and Shiro could almost feel the doctor’s thoughts racing for an excuse before he surrendered, pulling Shiro down harder to demand more. By the time they came up for a breath, they were both panting, and shivering for completely different reasons.

“I shouldn’t take advantage.”

Shiro huffed a laugh, kissing at the corner of Keith’s mouth. “I think I’m the one taking advantage.” 

They lost each other for another moment, stumbling their way through the halls, little puddles in their wake and only half a mind spared to anyone catching sight of them.

They tumbled into Keith’s office. Shiro tried to pull off Keith’s jacket, awkward as the wet fabric stuck to his skin. With a hiss of frustration, he tugged at the suit. This was worse than even the armor his prince had favored. At least that was only used for the battlefield. He longed for the days of the easy togas and soft, simple cloaks when he had to be clothed at all. Now there were buttons and fasteners and so many layers, it was frustratingly binding and impossible to manage.

“Let me?” Keith asked, hands hovering over Shiro’s waistcoat and waiting for permission, the quick nod before he started deftly unbuttoning. He slipped Shiro’s jacket off and let it drop to the floor as Shiro bent to kiss down the racing pulse in Keith’s neck.

Keith pushed him away just long enough for him to tear Shiro’s shirt off of him. It was forgotten as soon as it fell, revealing smooth, toned skin, everything that had teased him beneath damp cloth. Keith’s knuckles dragged over Shiro’s belly, feeling it jolt beneath his fingers as Shiro gasped, before his hands flattened over Shiro’s ribs.

“God, you’re impossible.” Keith whispered, and Shiro quirked a grin. It faded when Keith reached for what was left of his arm, all the breathing rushing out of him with a soft, “No.”

The doctor paused, his piercing violet eyes boring through Shiro, always so familiar and always so intense. Then he adjusted his grip, settling instead on the top of Shiro’s shoulder and kissed the spot beside it. Then again, working his way across his clavicles, tongue lapping out to explore the dark shadows between them. The memory of his mouth could never live up to the real thing, and Shiro whimpered.

“Tell me this is okay.” Keith pleaded, almost gentle enough to hurt. “Tell me you want this.”

“More than anything.”

Humbled with want and the most potent hope, Shiro didn’t recognize his own voice.

Keith was as confident as the prince, but so tender that it took Shiro’s breath away. He helped strip Shiro bare, before carefully hanging their wet clothes by the fire place to dry. He stoked the fire a bit for warmth, pointedly not looking back at the naked man in his office as if denying himself could win him back some control. 

It didn’t.

When he turned, Shiro could see the hunger right below the surface. That same impatient, reckless need barely restrained. Shiro didn’t even try to resist, sweeping Keith up into his arm and kissing him as the warmth from the fire started to finally chase the chill from his skin. 

Keith gently pushed Shiro back to the plush couch beside the fire until the edge caught his knees and he sat. With a grin, Keith straddled his hips, wet clothes dragging against Shiro’s chest.

He pulled off the rest of his clothes with less care, leaving it in a soggy heap on the floor before bending to press a kiss to Shiro’s chest, tracing scars and cracks with his mouth. 

“I thought you were beautiful from the moment I saw you.” Keith whispered and Shiro started, looking down at his ruined body. Maybe he had been once, but that was before time had worn away perfection. He was a shadow of his creator’s skill now, clumsy and struggling to relearn even the simplest things.

Shiro tried to laugh and managed a strained smile, heat spreading across his face, and whatever he might have looked like, he was sure he was acting like a fool now. Keith let out a soft sound of protest, and Shiro felt it right against his throat. It was as if there was nothing between it and his racing pulse, the soft wetness of Keith’s mouth making him shudder.

“I haven’t-” he stared and cut himself off. In another time, in another place, he would have pushed Keith down, pinned his wrists against the headboard and left him trembling. Or held him up against the wall, spread him open on his fingers and tongue before taking everything his lover had to offer. Shiro didn’t know what he could offer anymore, didn’t know what he could dare.

Then Keith was kissing him again, long and low, and Shiro could feel it all the way down to his toes.

“I’ll go slow.” Murmured against the corner of Shiro’s mouth, the curve of a smile pressing against his cheek. “Can I?”

Then there were hands at his hips, petting, stroking across his thighs and towards more intimate places. Shiro blushed.

“It- the rain was cold.”

Keith laughed. Shiro felt it in the way his shoulders trembled, and he reached out, hand curling around the doctor’s waist, fingers just skimming the hem of his pants.

“What about you?” He dared. “No fair if you get all the fun.”

There was a wickedness to Keith’s smile now, one that the circles under his eyes couldn’t hide. In an instant he was transformed, younger and more carefree, into a version of himself that set Shiro’s heart racing. This he knew,  _this_ was a Keith he had seen before and nothing through time could change it.

Keith unfastened his trousers, leaving them in the same soggy heap with the rest of his clothes. His thighs were pink from the cold, the same mottled flush spread over his body. Lean muscle pulled taut as he caught Shiro staring, following the line of him down past his chest and further, the dark trail of hair on his belly leading down. His cock curved slightly up, already hard in his eagerness and Shiro found himself licking his lips.

“Can I?” The question hung in the air between them as Keith settled back down on his lap and stole the rest with a kiss, trapping Shiro agianst the soft velvet plush of his sofa. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Hm?” Keith pulled back a little, his lips slick and shiny red. 

“Nothing. I want you.” He always did.

Keith’s arms were around his shoulders, keeping him braced as Shiro reached between them to take him in hand. The first touch made Keith close his eyes, his teeth dragging across his lower lip. Then Shiro made him hiss, bucking into his touch, his legs spreading on their own volition. Shiro claimed that space, eager for any way they could be closer.

“There,” Keith slurred, his grip tightening on Shiro’s waist as their cocks lined up. He felt like silk against Shiro’s length, warm and smooth and impossibly good. “Like that, just- _there.”_

Shiro moved slowly, taking all the time in the world. No sense in rushing when the storm outside showed no sign of slowing and Keith’s office was so warm. He tightened his hand around their cocks and rocked his hips just slightly, winning another breathy moan. 

“C’mon, baby.” And Keith fucked him into the velvet with long, lazy thrusts, fingers digging into Shiro’s shoulders hard enough to leave crescent-shaped red marks in the skin. He whined with frustration, trying to match Shiro’s slow rhythm, but too impatient to be so careful.

“More!” Keith demanded and Shiro hushed him with a kiss. He teased out a breath, slipping the barest tip of his tongue between Keith’s lips. Another slow drag of his cock against the tight ring of his fingers and Keith’s eyes fluttered closed. “Oh god.”

Keith whined into each kiss, unhappy at the very possibility it could end. He wanted his hands in Shiro’s hair, against his throat, on his chest, anywhere and everywhere he could reach, and any place that he hadn’t cherished before. Shiro reveled in it. There was a jagged desperation to his actions, and Keith couldn’t stop himself, wouldn’t have tried even if he realized it.

He was like a man possessed, kissing Shiro with single minded focus, like he needed to taste every inch of him, breathe him in or he’d never get the chance again.

“Please,” like a secret against Shiro’s mouth, but it was all Shiro could ask for.

He moved faster, with more confidence and surety. He wanted to know what Keith liked, each new place that made him sigh and shiver.

“I want you to fuck me,” Shiro whispered, and Keith’s entire body jolted.

Keith reached lower, fingers skimming across his thighs and murmured, “Here, between here?”

“Yes.”

It was all the invitation that Keith needed. He put a hand to Shiro’s chest and pushed until he had leverage enough to shove him back. For a moment, he let himself drown in the cushions as Keith moved with more grace than Shiro had managed when he’d tried.

“Stay right there.” Keith whispered, the head of his cock nudging against Shiro’s thighs. The skin was slick between them as he pushed through, bit by bit. He hissed a little, weight crushing down against Shiro as he thrust. “You’re doing so good for me.” Keith slurred.

And Shiro loved him like this, pink lipped and eyes soft, the way his voice slurred when it was thick with heat, the way he trembled when Shiro chased his pulse with kisses.

“Come on,” Shiro murmured, pressing his thighs tight together, giving his lover a slick valley to fuck into. He tried to coax Keith that much closer, a hand on Keith’s waist, following the rhythm of his thrusts as they came together, and when he kissed him, he could feel Keith moan. He walked his fingers up the curve of Keith’s spine, starting from the soft spot above his tail bone to the broad expanse of his back. Shiro had never thought himself greedy, but Keith proved him wrong every time.

“Wanna feel you…”

Keith groaned as he came, tucking his face into the crook of Shiro’s neck. Dull teeth grazed against his skin, the pain a slow pulse that echoed all the way down to Shiro’s toes as wet spilled across his thighs.

Shiro licked his name off Keith’s lips, and let Keith bring him off. For a long time afterwards, all he could think about was holding him.

“I think I’m a real fan of your treatment plan, doc.”

Keith laughed, and smacked him.

 

* * *

 

Shiro shivered, wrapping the scarf Shay had knitted for him up around his face. She’d laughed when he’d asked if this was normal, bundling him up in layers before sending him out to the grounds for a ‘healthy constitutional.’ He would have rather spent the afternoon in the warmth of Keith’s study (or his arms), but the doctor’s work had once again consumed him. Keith worked himself to the bone, too busy for even Shiro to distract him, so he let himself wander.

By now, most of the leaves had fallen, crunching underfoot as he slowly walked along the paths by the estate house. It was beautiful how it always changed, he’d never had a chance to see it before. Shiro paused a looked down at his gloved hand wondering if he had changed too. Stone ground to dust or wore away across the centuries, but change?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn’t stone now, that’s what mattered.

Shiro fell back into a defensive position, body moving on memory alone. He didn’t have a weapon and the clothes he was wearing were definitely not armor, but he’d followed these steps so many times before. Lunge and parry, block and dodge to the right. Stay light on your feet. He could almost hear Keith’s voice going through each movement until he’d practiced so much it had become a part of him.

It cleared his thoughts and swept away the doubt, settling him. Making him feel more solid.

His balance was off. He had to adjust and restructure, refocus and shift. Shiro felt the lack more vividly than he believed he would have felt its wound, and he wouldn’t have thought it possible if he hadn’t already lost Keith in much the same way.

No.

Focus. Rebalance.

He would have to learn how to favor his left hand. Keith was teaching him how to write again. Despite how generous Coran had been with his gifts of wisdom and understanding, he hadn’t given Shiro much to work with in terms of dexterity, but Shiro was trying. He had three different ways of writing his name now. Keith still asked if he had any other names, but Shiro doubted he would appreciate that particular answer. No matter. If he could handle a pen then he would handle a sword.

There was sudden, sharp crack, and Shiro spun around to come face to face with a familiar freckled face with auburn hair. Henry couldn’t seem to pick his jaw off the ground. Behind him, his brother was doing no better.

Shiro smiled.

It took the boy a second, but he straightened. When he spoke, it was without a hint of uncertainty. “What’re you doing?”

“Practicing. It makes me feel better.” Shiro had little experience with children and no reason to lie. It just made the boys’ eyes grow wider.

“Are you sword fighting?” The older one whispered and Shiro had to laugh. Did he look so awestruck when he’d asked Keith to teach him how? The boys gathered around, the littlest one nervously kicking at the leaves. He tugged his brother’s sleeve and Henry paused to listen to frantic whispers before turning back to Shiro. “Asher wants to know if you were a knight!”

“No, not a knight, but I learned how to fence from a prince.” Shiro picked up a fallen branch and made a flourish as the boys gasped. Asher was all but bouncing with excitement. 

“Could you teach us how?” Henry asked, rummaging around in the leaves for his own stick. Asher went running off to try and find a twig he could use, a tiny thing that was still so flexible, it whipped through the air as he swung it.

“You really want to learn?” The children confused him, but they were so enthusiastic that Shiro couldn’t refuse them. They nodded eagerly and Shiro saluted them with his stick as they tried to mimic his movements. “Okay, but first we move slowly. It’s important to know the basics before you can fight anyone. You need to practice until you can go through the movements in your sleep so when you need to, your body just moves on its own.”

It was a good starting point - in theory. Five minutes in, and Shiro had already lost control of his students. They started off diligently, following his instructions with all the sharp-willed focus that only children on a mission could muster. Then Shiro had gone back to explaining weapon techniques. It was like a damn had broken. They swatted at each other, a bigger threat to the person beside their target than their actual target, branches and twigs wave wildly, and Shiro couldn’t stop laughing. Wielding with his left hand, he felt clumsy, but around them, it didn’t seem to matter as much. Distantly he hoped Shay would forgive him for tracking mud all over the floors again.

Then it happened. In the space between heartbeats, just as Shiro was drawing a breath, there was a dull thud. Henry was on his back, face scrunched up and pained. His younger brother stood beside him. Shiro had never seen Asher so pale.

“I’m okay.” Henry said, his mouth pinched so hard it had gone white, his hands wrapped around his calf. All around him was a mess of wet leaves, and one of his shoes had fallen off in his evident tumble.

Shiro knelt down beside him, at a loss. “Can you stand?”

The boy held his ankle, rocking back and forth as if that could drive away the pain. He tried to be so brave, but tears gathered in Henry’s eyes no matter how he tried to blink them away and his breath came in little hitching gasps. “N-no.” Henry warbled.  It hurts.”

“Asher, I need you to do something for me, okay?” Shiro turned to the younger boy who was chewing the edge of his sleeve with anxiety. “I need you to go get your mom and bring her here.”

“Mom?”

Shiro nodded. If anyone could help, it would be Shay. She’d worked with enough wounded soldiers to know how to help a twisted ankle, and it would be safer than trying to carry Henry back to the house with only one arm. This was all his fault, he should have been more careful. For a moment, he flashed back to Keith, blood on his hands from a training session gone awry, but he couldn’t let the memories take him now. “Go get Shay, I’ll stay with Henry. You can do this.”

The little boy danced from foot to foot, looking like he was going to say something, before he took off running back towards the house. Shiro watched him go before settling in next to Henry and giving the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’re going to be okay, just don’t try to move right now. Help’s coming and I’m right here.”

He could have picked Henry up, in another time, in different circumstances. Shiro worried about it now, as he slowly got to his feet, extending his left hand to the scared child. “Here, can you lean on me? We’ll start walking back slowly.”

He put on the biggest smile he could muster and watched Henry respond in kind, but when Henry got to his feet, heavily favoring his other leg, it buckled shakily, and knocked him into Shiro, nearly sending them both to the ground. He cried out in pain, catching himself on his hands and knees, curling into himself just a little slightly, and Shiro was stricken.

“It’s alright. It’s okay,” he soothed, patting the boy’s back, trying to stop the way his shoulders trembled. “We’ll wait here. They’ll be back soon.”

“I hate this.” Henry muttered through clenched teeth, swiping viciously at his eyes, but his nose was bright red and cheeks flushed, and Shiro didn’t want him to cry.

“I know it’s hard, but you have to be patient.”

“It’s stupid, it’s just a twisted ankle!” Henry grabbed a fist full of leaves with a crunch and snarled, ashamed at himself. “It’s not fair.”

“Stop.” Shiro’s voice was sharp enough that the boy’s eyes jerked upward. “There is nothing wrong with being hurt. Sometimes accidents happen and they’re not fair, but you can’t let them stop you. Rushing around like nothing happened isn’t going to help and it might even make things worse. Breathe, Henry. Patience yields focus.”

The boy stared at him in surprise before scrunching his face with determination. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and Shiro watched as Henry tried to force himself to calm down.

The advice was sound and Shiro realized Henry wasn’t the only one who needed to hear it. His arm, the scars, everything he wasn’t able to do on his own anymore without struggling, he had to be patient. He hadn’t learned to be human in a single day or even a single lifetime.

“Henry!” A voice called out behind him and Keith burst into the little clearing in a panic. “I’m here, are you okay?”

“Dad?”

Shiro had never seen Keith quite so upset - not this version of him. His hair was windswept, and mud splattered his normally pristine slacks. He kneeled by Henry without a moment’s hesitation, managing a smile even if the color hadn’t completely returned to his cheeks. “Hey, hey there, buddy. What happened?”

“My leg…” Henry scrunched up his face, but he nodded and didn’t argue as Keith peered down at the damage, gently pressing against his ankle. Then he looped an arm around his son’s shoulders and beneath his legs. Henry sagged against him with a tired sigh as Keith brought him to his feet.

“Okay? Okay. Just hold on.” Keith’s voice softened. He murmured something else in his son’s ear, and Henry nodded. It was a moment later that he seemed to notice Shiro at all, turning back after Henry had tucked his face into his shoulder.

Shiro nodded, but he watched them go.

 

* * *

 

“How’s Henry?”

Keith looked up from his papers, spectacles falling down the bridge of his nose, and something in Shiro’s chest fluttered unexpectedly.

It was another late night, the sort Shiro couldn’t sleep through and Keith forgot to ignore. Keith still looked lovely in the lamp light.

“Oh. Hi.” Keith said, getting to his feet quick enough that his chair squeaked. He scrubbed a hand over his face, removing his glasses, but didn’t seem to notice where he was putting them down. Shiro caught them before they hit the ground.

“Quick reflexes, thanks.” Keith gave him a rueful smile as Shiro set the glasses carefully back on his desk.

“I had a lot of practice.” Shiro pulled up a chair, the feet scraping across the wooden floor as he sat beside the doctor close enough to almost touch. By the flickering lantern light, Keith’s face looked pale and drawn. He wore exhaustion around his shoulders like a cloak, his suit jacket wrinkled from being worn for too many days in a row, the shadows beneath his eyes almost purple.

“He’s doing better, he just needs a little rest until the ankle heals up. Not that it’s easy to convince him to stay put. He’s a stubborn boy, I think Shay is having a hard time keeping him still.”

“Stubborn and doesn’t rest when he needs to? Sounds a lot like his father.”

Keith ducked his head and Shiro wasn’t sure if he took the comparison well. The doctor sighed and rubbed a hand across his temples. “I’d have hoped they’d have picked up some better traits.”

“You know, you never told me you had kids.” It wasn’t an accusation, not  _really_ , but Shiro felt his heart squeeze painfully. He’d thought he’d known Keith, as different as he’d been from lifetime to lifetime. The most important pieces of him survived somehow. But this was new and confusing, and Keith had never said a word about the boys. Shiro had seen Shay take care of them more than anyone else while Keith kept himself locked here in his office or on the rounds to talk to the patients. If Asher hadn’t run to get him when Henry had been hurt, Shiro would never have known.

“Maybe it’s because I never act like their father.” Keith said, then grimaced, ashamed of himself for the slight. He’d never worn self-pity well, and now it was even more ill-fitting.

Keith scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to hide them, or deceive you. It wasn’t anything like that. It’s just-”  
  
He trailed off and when Shiro realized he wasn’t going to expand, he took a step closer, crowding into Keith’s space until the doctor was forced to look up at him. He cupped Keith’s chin, gently stroking a thumb across the line of his jaw. Keith’s eyes fluttered closed with the softest sigh and he leaned into Shiro’s place. It gave him the presence to continue.  
  
“Their mother’s been gone for a long time now, and sometimes its… difficult. To remember which are the most important parts of her.”   
  
Shiro winced, jealous and ashamed for it, but Keith was telling him the truth and he held himself too much like he was bracing himself. So Shiro kissed him at the corner of his mouth, feeling Keith shiver against him. It was a reassurance on its own.   
  
“I don’t think I understand,” he offered, pulling away, but Keith wouldn’t stand for distance between them when there could be none. He crowded Shiro, embraced him like he wasn’t ever going to let go.  
  
“This was her idea. All this. The house, the treatment, all of it. We met at, well, in Gettysburg. She’d lost a brother, and we’d lost too many friends… She was amazing.” It was strange to think about all the life Keith had experienced without him. Shiro stole away a few months, a season at a time, filling it with memories and what he hoped was love. But Keith existed before and for all Shiro’s years, none of them were spent truly alive. He didn’t get to grow or change the way Keith had and if he was honest, he’d never even thought about it before.

The small slice of time had been enough. But Keith had children and a past and memories Shiro was never going to share. 

“She must have been wonderful.” Shiro meant every word and Keith swallowed hard before nodding.

“She was better at all of this than I am. I love my boys, but I-, it’s hard. I look at them and I see their mother. I know it’s not fair, but this is her work.” Keith gestured weakly around them. “I can’t let her down. She wanted so badly to help people after the war and I need to keep that part of her alive. I have to keep working.”

Shiro silenced him with a quick kiss as Keith buried his face into Shiro’s chest. “You work too hard already. Do you think she would have wanted you to do this all on your own?”

“I have help, I just…”

“If she wanted to help people, she wouldn’t have wanted it to come at the cost of you, Keith. If she loved you, she’d want you to be okay too.”  _I know that I would._

Keith was silent for a moment longer, his hands flat against Shiro’s lower back. “Sometimes the only way I feel like I’m doing the right thing is when I’m following what she left behind. Like I have a purpose.”

Shiro cupped his face, his fingers curling towards the back of Keith’s throat, his thumb brushing across his cheek. He urged his lover to meet his gaze. Keith didn’t turn away. “Do you need to do any work tonight?”

He could see the argument brewing in Keith’s eyes, and see the exact moment that he surrendered. “I could use some company.”

Then Keith was pushing him back, leading him through the quiet halls of the sleeping home. They walked along the shadows, as silent as mice and as stealthy as thieves, but in the privacy of the doctor’s room, Keith was insistent and needy. He held on to Shiro like he couldn’t stand to let him go. Every inch between them was a travesty, and Keith did everything in his power to drive it away, until Shiro was writhing and gasping beneath his touch.

At one point, Shiro wondered if this was guilt, if this was Keith’s way of forgetting or remembering, but then Keith called his name, his voice hitching around it like a sob, and it didn’t matter.

“Can you stay?” Keith asked later, when they were tangled in the sheets, with sweat cooling against their skin.

“Just for tonight?”

Keith shook his head, tightened his grip around Shiro’s waist. “For as long as you want.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Shiro murmured into Keith’s hair as the doctor’s eyes closed with a satisfied sigh. He sent a silent prayer to Coran that he could keep that promise.

 

* * *

 

The days grew colder and darker, storms moving in as the last of the leaves fell. Crows gathered in the bare branches, calling up towards the clouds to warn of incoming rain that lasted for days on end. The staff closed the windows against the bleakness but the warmth inside the manor house only grew.

The other patients gathered in the afternoon around the fireplace in the main living room to drink and share stories of the war, finding a way to laugh through the painful memories by holding onto their camaraderie. Shiro didn’t have any stories to contribute, but he could share his company and his laughter. Shay would bring snacks with Hunk at her elbow, beaming and dusted with flour as he demanded everyone taste his new creations. It wasn’t hard to see the way Shay smiled when as she shared her kitchen or the peace he found working beside her.

And they weren’t the only ones to find some kind of peace.

The first time Keith had crept from his lonely office and left his work earlier than Shiro had ever seen, he spent the entire evening sitting anxiously in a great chair as his sons played on the floor in front of the fireplace. It was only a few minutes before Asher reached out to his father’s hand, tugging him down to join their game.

Henry was still subdued, as if the bandage on his ankle had somehow made him wary, but his brother was more than happy to make up the difference. For a while, Shiro was content to watch. Then Henry turned to him and waved him over.

“You never finished your lesson. We still have to practice our riposte,” he said, as if he was in any shape for fencing. Shiro felt a stab of guilt somewhere deep in his belly. He should have been more careful about his audience. Keith didn’t seem to hold any ill will towards him, but he winced just the same.

“I don’t think anyone is in any shape for sword play.” Keith said, frowning, and Henry’s face scrunched up with such familiarity Shiro couldn’t breathe.

“How about a story instead?” He interrupted, sitting on the floor cross-legged, and it must have been an enticing enough offer because Asher dropped his model train to scoot across the carpet towards them.

“What kind of story?”

“It’s about the one who taught me how to fight. He was a prince.” Shiro shot a quick glance at Keith, and looked away when he realized he was caught. “But he was so much more than that. He was a warrior before anything else, and he had an older brother, who was just as fierce, and destined to be king.”

He drew on the artist who’d taught him the delicacy of design. He drew on the knight who’d taught him passion and vibrance, and his audience ooh’d and aah’d. In his periphery, he saw Hunk meander over, his walking stick tapping lightly against the couch, with Shay not far behind, and a few of the other men taking a seat closer.

When it came time to give them an ending, Shiro froze. And then he lied.

A happy ending was what he’d wanted anyways. It was what his prince had deserved.

That night, he’d helped Henry to bed as Keith carried Asher. Keith was gentle, tucking them both into bed with a kiss before turning down the lantern light and closing the door softly before leaning against the wall.

“They don’t hate me.”

“Why would they?” Shiro frowned and pulled Keith against him as the doctor didn’t resist, seeking comfort in the warmth of Shiro’s body.

“For hiding from them. For focusing so much on my work that I’ve missed…I’ve missed so much.”

“They’re your children, Keith. They love you and I know you love them.”

“Yes, I-, yes.” Keith pulled back slightly to look up into Shiro’s face, the shadows playing across his skin. “I have to do better. I can’t run from my grief. It’s not all about me, they lost her too and I need to be there for them. I have to be better.”

“Then be better.” It was never a question. When Keith set his mind to something, he would always find a way to reach it no matter how difficult it would be and Shiro loved him for it. He loved the warrior’s soul that burned within the body of a family man, the dedication and joy of an artist. He might have lost his way, but Keith always found his footing eventually. “I will be right here to help you.”

“You will?”

Shiro swallowed down his hope, heart aching sharply. “I will. I won’t leave you.”

“And it didn’t even surprise you?” Hunk asked a few days later as Shiro sat in the kitchen watching Hunk experiment with a new kind of bread. The jars had been carefully arranged in front of them, each one marked so that he knew what was inside by touch alone. “The fact that he has kids and you didn’t know?”

“I’ve already tried jealousy, I didn’t like it. Love isn’t jealousy.” Shiro made a face. “Or possession, tried that too. Love is something different.”

“I’m not talking about jealousy.”

“Then what?”

“Come on, you don’t-? I mean, I guess, some people are adaptable and stuff.” Hunk trailed off, seemingly oblivious to the way Shiro frowned though he was always perceptive of the mood around him. For a moment, Shiro seemed content to watch Hunk stir, expertly mixing ingredients without a pinch of flour escaping from his bowl. It wasn’t until Hunk started to knead the dough that he spoke up. “He has kids.” His hands slowed, head tilting towards something Shiro couldn’t perceive, expressive mouth turned down in a tired frown. “Some days it barely feels like I can take care of myself. I couldn’t imagine taking care of kids, but. Good on ya, and they’re good kids. They really are, but. Did you ever want kids?”

“They’re Keith’s.” Shiro said, like that was answer enough, and Hunk didn’t push any further, but somehow, it felt like Shiro had still said the wrong thing.

It was easy to forget, when Keith was there nearly every night now, and Shiro could draw him away from his office with more consistence, and the boys were so well-behaved and big-hearted. They were the first children Shiro had ever really had the chance to know, and he’d never understood what it meant to have someone depend on him so much. But they were Keith’s. That should have been all that mattered.

The skies turned grayer, and the trees lost the last of their leaves. The wind grew biting, and there was talk of pumpkins and candied apples, and beyond that the promise of turkey and cranberry sauce. As the cold grew more insistent, Keith held on tighter, and they lost themselves in downy sheets and thick woolen socks. 

It was easy to banish the questions Hunk had asked when he was warm and the rain beat against the windows where it couldn’t touch anyone. The boys were easy to love, it didn’t require any more thinking than that, and Shiro had never considered what a family could mean. It was nice. Whatever Keith needed, he would do. Whatever Keith wanted, he could be.

And right now, that meant giving the doctor his full attention, even when he was supposed to be asleep.

It was incredibly warm. A thick bundle of downy quilts stretched across his back, over a smooth cotton blanket, and Shiro was panting into his pillow, the air thick on his tongue. His eyes were heavy with sleep and the darkness was stubborn. There was a rumble of laughter at his back, soft and muted but wonderfully familiar. A thick, dull pressure below his waist, pressing inside with an insistence that made him squirm. He was already so loose, and memories of the previous night were gentle enough to feel like dreams, and he groaned at the reminder.

“Shhh it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He was on his side. There was an arm steadying him around his waist, and lips teasing the base of his throat, and Shiro gasped. He wanted- he wanted… the touched moved across his chest, dull edge of a thumb teasing against his nipple, sensation brightening across his chin. Then it curled around his neck, not tightening but bracing. A calf slipped between his, spreading his legs, and Keith felt so good.

Then Shiro turned back, his eyes barely open, and yawned in his face.

“Really?” More of that laughter, but it was kindly, ghosting across the curve of his ear. 

“You’re the worst.” Shiro pulled him down into a kiss, playfulness turning to sensuality. Something slower, intimate, sharing a breath caught between them as Keith’s knee slipped higher. There was another finger inside him, teasing and insistent, and Shiro forgot how to breathe.

His eyes fluttered closed, arching back slightly against the pillows and lifting his hips to give Keith a better angle. Keith was gentle but insistent, taking Shiro apart with his fingers alone. Slick and slow, he worked them deeper, curling them just slightly to earn a soft breathy moan. “Relax for me, Shiro. I’ll take care of you.”

And he always would. Shiro struggled to obey, body tensing around the intimate slide of his fingers and demanding more. Keith always did ask for the most difficult things. “You’re just teasing now!”

“Maybe.” Keith’s voice was sly and wicked, sealing the taunt with a kiss that Shiro chased for more. “I like seeing you like this. No worries, no stress.”

“I think I’m feeling pretty stressed.”

Keith pressed a laugh against Shiro’s throat and pulled his fingers free, sliding his slick hand between Shiro’s thighs. He gripped the base of Shiro’s cock, giving a long, firm squeeze that startled another groan from his lover’s lips. “I could just keep you like this forever.”

A choked noise escaped Shiro, embarrassingly helpless, and he didn’t realize it until Keith was purring against his skin. “Don’t you dare.”  
  
It was a weak threat when he could barely keep his voice steady, and his hips bucked on their own accord, trying to chase the promise Keith held in his tight grip as much as the one that curved against the cleft of his ass. He pressed insistently against Keith, earned himself a groan, and Shiro shivered all the way to his toes.  
  
“You woke me up. You can’t make me do all the work.” He tried to sound like he was anything but whining. Failed miserably.  
  
Then Keith had him on his back and kissed laughter against his mouth. Shiro licked along the shape of his smile, his arm slung wildly across his back as they moved together in a lazy, languid rhythm that left his nerves thrumming just beneath his skin.   
  
“Keith,” He whispered, dragging his teeth across his lover’s lower lip. “Keith please… fuck me or I’m going back to sleep.”   
  
Keith laughed so hard he snorted. “You think I’m kidding!” Shiro rolled them over in a tumble of limbs as Keith laughed and laughed, Shiro’s weight smothering him.

“You’re going to crush me!”

“Then you’ll have learned your lesson about waking me up.” Now it was his turn to tease. A kiss turned into a lingering touch as Keith wound his fingers through Shiro’s dark hair.

“So, teach me.” Keith whispered against his mouth and Shiro grinned, settling his weight on Keith’s hips. The doctor bucked slightly, the curve of his hard cock dragging against Shiro’s ass. “I thought you didn’t want to do all the work.”

“I expect you to put in your fair share, Keith. I’m just tired of waiting.” Shiro reached back to help guide Keith in, the tight muscle tensing as he moved inch by inch. Eyes squeezed shut, Shiro sank back against him, breath whispered in a soft sigh.

“Don’t just sit there, move!” Keith complained as Shiro ground his hips down.

“So now you don’t like being teased, hm?”

Keith bit him, and Shiro was pretty sure he deserved it. It didn’t stop him from laughing though, leaning down over Keith, stretched out across him. Suddenly Keith’s arms were around his waist to help him find his balance, the mirth not entirely gone from his features but it was replaced with something kinder, something more careful. 

 "Hey…“ He leaned up, pressed a kiss to the corner of Shiro’s cheek, and Shiro shuddered around him, anticipation pooling in the center of his gut. Keith’s hands moved to stroke down his thighs before finally settling on his hips. 

 "I’m okay.” Shiro promised. Keith looked like he wanted to ask if Shiro’s was sure, his brow furrowed with more concern than Shiro wanted to see when he had Keith’s cock buried inside him. He bore down around him, made Keith’s heart catch in his throat, and heat spread across his belly. He started rolling his hips in slow, easy circles, feeling the way Keith dragged through him when he was tight and wet. 

 Keith’s grip tightened, then relaxed like he’d caught himself doing something he knew he shouldn’t. His eyes went soft at the edges, pretty pink mouth falling open in a husky sigh. “Oh god.“ 

 "Thanks. Shiro will do." 

 Keith wheezed out a laugh, burying his face in Shiro’s shoulder, and Shiro didn’t think he’d ever loved anyone so much. 

He took Keith slow, balancing his weight on his knees as Keith’s hands curled around his sides to keep him steady. It was easy to find a rhythm, practice always made perfect, and now that Keith had taken time from working himself to death to find pleasure in friends and family, they had more time to make it right.

Shiro bent over him, moving in small, slow circles as he stole another kiss. A kind of lazy possession, no need to rush. Not when the bed was warm and they didn’t have to leave it until they were ready.

Keith’s hands grew greedier, one gripping his hip and the other finding its way around his cock. At the tight ring of Keith’s fingers, Shiro’s hips stuttered, caught between fucking down and thrusting into Keith’s hand. “I’ve got you.”

Gods help him, Shiro believed it. He arched back and lifted himself up on his knees as Keith bucked his hips to meet him. The bed creaked, sound only broken by the soft gasping of air and the quiet slap of skin on skin. “Please,” Shiro murmured as Keith thumbed along the head of his cock. “Keith,  _please_.”

“Almost. Almost there, it’s okay.” The words didn’t matter as much as the say Keith touched him, the way his grip never faltered, the way he felt when he kissed Shiro’s slackened mouth, stealing each whimper before it passed his lips. He would give Shiro everything he wanted, but all Shiro wanted was him. “Let me see you. 

Shiro gave in, with a sigh and a shudder, his ribs tightening as pleasure cut through him like a knife. He gasped for breath, but he could never get enough, inhaling again and again and forgetting to let go. 

Then Keith had him on his back, his thighs stretched wide enough to burn. Every thrust punched through him, straining over sensitized nerves until Shiro couldn’t remember his own name. Keith watched him with such hunger, his eyes dark and hungry as they raked over his shoulders and chest and belly, finally settling on the place they connected, where Shiro gave in so sweetly. He was still begging. Eyes closed, pretty cock spent and slick spilled across his skin, whispering Keith’s name like a prayer and Keith groaned, pulling him in. 

He came with Shiro on his tongue, kissing him long and sweet as he filled him from both ends, and when it was all over, all they could do was breathe, holding tight to each other as sweat caught in the ends of Keith’s dark hair and dripped down to Shiro’s chest. 

Keith moved first, catching a sweet kiss from Shiro’s eager lips and holding himself steady as he pulled free. There was just enough strength left to curl beside him on damp sheets, the warmth of the fire enough to chase the chill from his flushed skin.

“Glad I woke you up now, hm?” He huffed as Shiro snorted and kissed him again.

“Do you think we could stay here? I’m not sure I can move at all today.” Shiro stifled a yawn and stretched, his body aching sweetly at the pull. They would have to clean off eventually, but even the wash basin seemed so impossibly far away right now.

Keith grinned. “We might be able to convince Shay to bring us something to eat here instead of in the kitchens, but we might scandalize her. I’m not sure I want to risk it.”

“Are you sure? Might be worth it.”

“I doubt she’d be willing to do anything if there weren’t pants. She’s a pretty respectable woman.” Keith teased, resting his cheek on Shiro’s shoulder.

“We’re going to starve.” Shiro bemoaned, slinging his arm over his face dramatically, and he could feel Keith chuckling against him. When he removed his hand, Keith was right there, with an impish smile that Shiro couldn’t help but try to kiss away. It felt as good as he thought it would.

“I’ll miss you when you fade away.”

Shiro shoved him, and hoped he wouldn’t go very far.

The moments bled together, morning lost against the steady beating rain against the window. Just as Shiro began to doze off, the sheets beside him shifted. Keith pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. “I truly hate to go.”

“Then don’t. It’s too cold.” Shiro grumbled, eyes still mostly closed. His argument was foolproof, and he informed Keith of as much. For his trouble, he was rewarded with more laughter.

“I have a few appointments in town. I should be back before nightfall.” He nipped at Shiro’s shoulder, then tried again with every bit of soft skin he could reach. Shiro meant to bat him away, but gave up before he could lift an arm. “What’re you gonna do today?”

“Sleep.” He yawned. “Wait for you to come back.”

“Sounds terrible. Maybe you would like to head to town in the rain instead?” Keith teased as Shiro laughed and swatted the doctor with a pillow.

“Of course not. I’ll just spend my time missing you.”

The look on Keith’s face was impossibly fond. Shiro’s heart thumped painfully as he smiled, pressing one more quick kiss to the side of Keith’s face. He’d never considered a family, strange how it had become his own so quickly. The boys had welcomed him into their lives and he cared for them more than he thought possible. He wanted to make sure they were safe and happy, and every moment he could spend with them and Keith was precious. This place, these friends, it felt more like home than anything ever had before.

He watched Keith dress reluctantly, trying in vain to coax him back to bed with teasing promises before the doctor finally said goodbye. Shiro flopped back down on the bed with a smile, listening to the steady sound of rain against the glass and willed himself to have the energy to move. Asher and Henry would be looking for him soon. Maybe he could get the boys lunch before they practiced.

Shiro had his day, as he promised, a day of sword fighting and mulled wine, hiding from the autumn showers. He looked to the roads too often, and thought of Keith even more, and when the twinge in his chest began to ache, it felt almost like nothing at all.

“Keith?”

There was no answer, and then no feeling. There was no way to protect him from this.

It was an ordinary day, with no warnings. No signs. It happened faster than he could draw breath. He’d done everything right, but death could come so quietly and still take everything he’d ever wanted.

Then there was nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave us a comment or a like?
> 
> You can find Dans [here.](http://itdans.tumblr.com/)  
> Rune's tumblr is [here](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com/) and our joint twitter is [here.](http://twitter.com/runicscribbles)
> 
> Come say hello. :)


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